The Face In The Mirror
by Eleiece
Summary: Sam leaps into a teenage boy with multiple personalities. This story is preMirror Image.
1. Chapter 1

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Prologue**

He tumbled through the brilliant blue light that was through him and all around him at the same time. The wrong he had just put right was nearly faded from his memory, nothing much about it remained with him. Not where it had happened, nor who the person was, not even a fleeting memory of what that person's face looked like.

It occurred to him, as it had on many occasions as he tumbled through time waiting for his next "assignment" to begin, that at moments it was sometimes hard to remember what his own face looked like; it had been so long since he'd seen it.

Then the sensation of tumbling aimlessly began to slow. He felt himself, whatever he was at that instant, begin to focus, moving toward the point where he would again open his eyes and find himself in someone else's life, there because God, Time, Fate or Whatever was leaping him around had discovered another wrong that needed correcting.

_Will I ever see my own face, again?_ The thought had barely occurred to him when he felt the Presence that always made itself felt as he traveled between destinations.

_Yes._

_When?_ he pleaded, feeling even as he did, the brief blurring, a sort of blindness that began as he entered the life of the next person he was to help.

In time. 

_When?_ he repeated his plea.

Just before the blurring consumed him, he heard the same frustratingly succinct response that had been the answer to so many of his questions.

_Soon._


	2. Chapter 2

**The Face In The Mirror**

By C. Eleiece Krawiec Chapter 1 

The blurring began to fade from his mind, the world around him coming into focus rapidly. His hearing, as always, seemed to echo for several seconds after the leap in was finished. Glancing down at himself, he breathed a sigh of relief to see that he was wearing brown slacks and a gray and blue plaid, short-sleeved shirt. At least I'm a guy, this time he thought. Then he seemed to hear a male voice speaking near him, and he blinked and looked around for its source.

He was sitting in a classroom and from his proximity to the blackboard, in the front row. A quick glance at the students on either side of him, probably high school juniors or seniors judging by their looks as well as the way they were dressed, told him he was the focus of attention. The male voice spoke again, this time almost on top of him, and Sam jumped, managing to knock the open textbook and notebook in front of him to the floor.

"Huh?" was the first sound that came out of his mouth, and he felt the color rise in his face at the hoots and laughter aimed at him. The girl sitting to his left retrieved the book and held it out to him.

"You better stop daydreaming, Perry," she whispered under her breath as Sam grabbed up the notebook before taking the book from her. Her brown eyes were as shy as her smile, and Sam managed a nod and a smile himself.

"Right."

"Mr. Kirkwood!" Howard Packard spoke again, the thinness of his patience evident in his sharp tone.

Sam looked up at the tall man with thinning black hair. "Yes sir?"

Howard Packard had been teaching chemistry and the basics of physics to the juniors and seniors of Willandale High School for more than twenty years. He had patiently, often wearily repeated the lessons to many teenagers who had no real interest in the subject except to get a passing grade in order to move up a class or graduate.

He had fallen under the spell and fascination that chemistry had cast over him when he had received a chemistry set for Christmas at the age of twelve. The tall, gawky youth had realized he'd found something that not only was he interested in but in fact, was better at than anyone else in school. He had also discovered, while tutoring some of the kids who sought him out, a knack and appreciation for teaching his beloved chemistry. Though shy in social situations, Howard felt at ease when helping his classmates to understand his beloved subject, and by the time his senior year rolled around, he had decided to become a teacher. His astute sharpness and ever fresh fascination with the subject he taught had carried him through endless classes of teenagers such as the ones surrounding him now. But, every so often, the Fates rewarded him for his devotion to chemistry and to teaching by sending him a few students who had reaped the benefits of his knowledge, going on to higher planes of knowledge and professions because of him. The tall, good-looking if gawky young man blinking up at him from behind heavy tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses, was one of those special students who would go on to greater things. If he could keep him from daydreaming! He fixed the young man with a keen look and repeated himself for the third time.

"Mr. Kirkwood," Howard spoke clearly, holding a tight rein on his patience. "Please go to the blackboard and see if you can finish the equations that no one else," he allowed his eyes to rove over the classroom, "seems to be able to complete." He held out a piece of chalk to Sam.

Taking the chalk, Sam got up and went to the blackboard, then stood staring for a minute at the three incomplete equations. Despite the Swiss-cheese effect leaping had on his memory, the vast wealth of knowledge of chemistry and physics stored in his brain always seemed to stay with him. Though he wasn't able to draw on every aspect of it whenever he liked, in every instance when he needed it, enough bits and pieces of that area of knowledge were available to him, and right now he was grateful.

What Perry (that was what the girl had called him) was obviously supposed to do was fill in the missing elements of the equation and then identify each substance by its chemical name. These three were simple.

"Well?" Howard Packard, now standing at the back of the class, leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "Is there a problem, Mr. Kirkwood?"

"Uh...no," Sam answered. "Just thinking for a minute." Then with a speed that amazed even the teacher, he completed the equations, writing the chemical name after each one. Laying the chalk down, he turned to go back to his seat, then stopped when the teacher spoke again.

"Can you identify everyday items in which these chemicals are found?"

Sam responded easily, turning to point to each equation. "All three equations are forms of potassium," he said. "The first is potassium bromide, and is commonly used in photography. It can also be used in medicine as a sedative. The second one is potassium nitrate. Some uses for it are in matches and fireworks. And the last is potassium hydrogen tartrate, but most people know it as cream of tarter." He met Howard Packard's gaze and waited. He knew he was right but felt it best to let the other man have the last word.

"That's correct," the teacher said slowly. Then, gathering his thoughts together said, "Imagine what you could do if you didn't daydream!"

Sam and the teacher passed as they returned to their respective places, amidst the hoots of laughter. Slipping into his seat, he glanced at the girl beside him; her smile told him she wasn't laughing at him. He mouthed the words, "Thank you."

Then the bell sounded for the end of the class, and Sam made sure he was among the last to leave. The girl who been his quiet ally was in the doorway when he put a hand on her arm.

"Uh...thanks...for the book," he said, stumbling over the words. Without knowing her name Sam was at a loss to know what else to say.

A plump girl with short red curls, and dressed in a bright pink skirt and short-sleeved white blouse wedged her way between Sam and the girl and hurried out the door. "Come on Margie," she called over her shoulder as she turned left, into the crowded hallway. "We've got that test in Caldwell's class in seven minutes."

"Be right there, Cathy," Margie called after the girl. She turned back to Sam. "Were you getting one of your headaches, Perry? Is that why you didn't hear "Pack"?"

"Yeah," Sam grasped at the handy explanation. "But, it's better now." He looked up when a warning bell rang. "We better get to Caldwell's class. Don't want to be late for that test." Her odd look told him he'd goofed.

"Funny," she said, her brown eyes laughing. "I don't recall seeing you in any of Mrs. Caldwell's Home Ec classes before."

"I...I just meant, I'll walk you to her class," Sam fumbled desperately, "on my way to my next class." He followed her into the hall, then felt his face get hot again when Margie pointed down the hall in the opposite direction.

"Home Ec is just around the corner, but the gym is that way," she teased. "All the way to the end, then turn right. If you run, maybe Mr. Smith won't give you five more demerits for being tardy."

By the time the last bell of the day rang at three forty-five, after gym class, followed by classes in American history and English, Sam's head was indeed pounding. The headache Margie had asked about in chemistry class had become a reality. Sharp points of pain like hot needles stabbed through his temples and into his eyeballs, his head felt like it was going to explode, the back of his neck stiff with tension. He had quietly followed Margie to his locker, giving silent thanks for the discovery that his locker was next to hers. Another garbled prayer tiptoed carefully through his head when he saw a small padlock on the locker, instead of a combination lock. Digging in his pocket he found a small key amongst the few coins, opened the full-length locker and put his books away.

For a moment Sam closed his eyes and leaned his forehead-against the cool grey-green metal door. He longed for some quiet corner to hide in until the pain released him. Only when he heard the sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening nearby did he open his eyes and look around. Looking past Margie, who was talking to another girl, he saw Al step out of the Imaging Chamber. Just glancing at Al's bright red suit and black shirt with red and silver stripes and a red fedora with a green feather added to the throbbing in his head.

Seeing the drawn paleness of Sam's face caught Al's attention, and he moved closer to him. Throughout the years of leaping, he had seen his friend in many unusual situations, seen him hurt and in pain on many leaps. But something about the pain he saw in Sam's face now was different.

"What's wrong, Sam?" he asked.

"Please, don't yell," Sam whispered as he pressed his fingertips against his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. Al's eyes narrowed; though a little sharp from concern, his voice was within his normal speaking level.

"I'm sorry, Perry," Margie said, turning to the silent young man beside her. "Rita just told me..." She noticed his paleness, and put a hand on his arm. "You're having one of your headaches, aren't you Perry? Did you forget your medicine again?"

The pain was steadily increasing as Sam nodded carefully. "I need to lay down," he whispered.

"Come on," Margie slipped an arm around his waist and started for the door. "Mom's waiting for me. We'll take you home."

Al had remained silent, gathering whatever information he could from the stilted conversation. At the mention of medicine and home, he said, "Ziggy, have Verbena check with the new visitor. Find out about any medication he's taking for headaches." He listened a moment, then stabbed another button on the handlink and snapped, "No! From the looks of Sam right now, we're probably talking serious migraine. And keep me centered on Sam."

Outside, at the curb, a red 1961 Chevrolet waited, a woman sat behind the steering wheel. Spotting the two teenagers coming out, she waved, then, seeing who was with her daughter, got out and came around the car.

"Margie...what.."

"Perry's having one of his headaches, mom," the pretty teenager explained as she helped Sam into the back seat of the car. "Just lie down," she told him gently, "and cover your eyes with your arm till we get to your house."

Sam turned onto his back, pulling his knees up so the door could be closed, then carefully laid his arm across his closed eyes. The darkness caused by the move seemed to bring a minute easing of the pain. For a moment, while the two women were getting in the car, he took a chance that Al was still nearby.

"Al?"

"I'm here, Sam," Al spoke softly. "I told Ziggy to keep me centered on you till we get to your…uh Perry's house." He punched in another code, then recited the little information Ziggy had been able to supply so far. "You're Perry Kirkwood, a nineteen year old senior at Willandale High School, in Willandale, Florida. It's a little town about a hundred miles or so from Tallahassee. You live with your father, Howard Kirkwood, about six blocks from here at 261 Liberty Street. Probably take about ten minutes to get there."

"Okay." Sam whispered so softly that Al leaned through the back seat to get close enough to hear. He didn't like the way Sam looked. The headache was probably a doozy if the grayish pallor of his friend's face was any indicator of the pain he was experiencing.

During the brief ride, Sam studiously avoided listening to Margie and her mom's conversation. He discovered that if he didn't try to focus on their words, but on the blessed darkness, the pain was easier to bear. Then, as he felt the car turn into a driveway and stop, he wondered about the person in the Waiting Room. Did he have a headache too?

_Who are you?_

The whispered question, so soft, so distant as to be almost a thought, jerked Sam back from his wondering about the person he had leaped into. He waited. Had he heard something? Maybe it was something Margie or her mother said.

_Maybe._

Sam dared to lift his arm from his eyes enough to look around. He glanced at the front seat thinking Margie had spoken to him, but her attention was on telling her mother about some project in Home Economics. He looked at Al, but he was reading data on the handlink, then punching in another code. No one was even looking at him.

Even as the pain in his head pounded mercilessly, Sam felt a shiver, as if he'd been touched by a cold wind, and he felt afraid. That last word that no one in the car had spoken had been said with a touch of cruel amusement.


	3. Chapter 3

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 2**

Verbena Beeks had spent nearly the entire morning in the Waiting Room with the latest "visitor" calming him down enough to just get his name out of him.

Perry," he finally said. He never took his eyes off the handsome black woman who had been with him since he'd opened his eyes to find himself on a hospital bed in a large white room, wearing what appeared to be a tight fitting jump suit. "My name is..." he frowned. "It's...I can't think of it."

That happens to a lot of our visitors," Verbena reassured him.

"Kirkwood. My name is Perry Kirkwood. This is a hospital, isn't it?"

"Why do you ask that?" Verbena asked, following the non-aggressive form of questioning she used with each new "visitor". Only on rare occasions did she have to frame her questions in a firmer manner; still rarer were the moments when she had to take on a more demanding style of questioning. Experience and instinct told her that low key was the best method to use with Perry. The young man watching her closely, had seemed startled by her presence though not especially frightened, only wary in a sort of resigned way.

"Because dad's been saying that if my headaches didn't start getting better, he was gonna put me in the hospital until they did," the young man now wearing Sam's aura said. He shifted his position on the bed, swinging his legs over the side. "So, this is a hospital, right?"

At the young man's words, Verbena glanced up and behind him, looking at the observation room and the technician who was monitoring the Project psychiatrist's interview with the visitor. A tiny blue light on a panel on the wall outside and to one side of the observation room winked once, Ziggy's alert to Verbena that she too was making a detailed audio and visual record of the Waiting Room's current occupant.

"It has been described as such," she replied. "While you are here you will be taken care of and protected. Now, Perry, I need to ask you some questions. Some of them may seem a bit odd, but we need you to answer them as completely as you can. And don't worry if there's some things you can't remember. It's just temporary. It will clear up when you go back home." She smiled when he nodded.

"What is today's date?"

"August 13, 1963."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Today's my birthday. I'm nineteen today."

"Happy birthday," Verbena said. "Now, Perry..." Her sentence was cut short by a beep from the wrist monitor she wore. Looking up at the observation room, she saw the technician pointing to the Waiting Room door. "Excuse me. I'll be back in a moment." She said and left the Waiting Room. The moment the Waiting Room's soundproof doors sealed behind her, Ziggy spoke.

"Admiral Calavicci has made an urgent request that you determine if the visitor is currently taking medication for headaches, possibly migraine."

"Is Dr. Beckett experiencing a migraine?" Verbena asked. She had long ago gotten over feeling odd about carrying on what would appear to be a one-sided conversation with herself in an empty corridor.

"Unknown," Ziggy responded. "All the admiral said was that Dr. Beckett is experiencing a headache that appears to make him sensitive to light."

"All right, continue monitoring the Waiting Room, and if Mr. Kirkwood gives any information about headaches..."

"...I will notify Gooshie immediately to update Admiral Calavicci," Ziggy finished the psychiatrist's sentence. "Since the visitor has supplied his name and date of birth, I have begun a background search." Verbena re-entered the Waiting Room.

"Perry, you said that you've been having headaches. Can you tell me about them? Are they very bad?"

"Sometimes it feels like somebody's poking hot needles in my eyes and squeezing my head in a vice at the same time. When I get 'em I have to lay down in a dark room and not move a muscle. Sometimes for hours. Those aren't so bad."

Verbena sharpened her attention at the last sentence. "What do you mean, 'those aren't so bad?'" The young man had just described two classic symptoms of a migraine headache, as well as a method many people used to ease it, yet 'those weren't too bad'?

"They're not," he insisted, as if trying to reassure her. "It's the ones that make me black out that I don't like."

"You black out? How long does a headache like that last?" Verbena noticed how Perry had begun to relax as he talked about his headaches, the fine worry lines smoothed away, his mannerisms calmer.

"Dad says usually just a few hours. He did tell me that I was once out for four days straight," Perry said, then hesitated. "I hate getting one of those headaches cause all I can remember is that it feels like I'm in a black room. And there's no sound and no way out, until I get another headache that pulls me out of it. Then I'm okay again...for a while." He lifted his eyes to meet Verbena's gaze. "I must have blacked out again. Dad told me the next time it happened he was gonna put me in the hospital." His eyes wandered around the large, quiet room, then back to her. "And here I am."

"Did your family doctor prescribe medicine for your headaches?"

Perry nodded, his eyes clouding with confusion as he struggled for answers. "Yeah. But I don't take it any more. Dad can't afford it. He doesn't earn enough at the bottle factory to buy it, plus pay the rent and bills and buy groceries." Anxiety had crept into his voice again. "That's why he said he was gonna put me in the hospital if my headaches got worse."

"But you just said he couldn't afford medicine for you," Verbena pressed gently. "How could he afford to put you in the hospital if he can't afford medicine?"

A shadow of resignation passed over the young man's eyes as he shook his head. "Dad never said what hospital, but I know he means the state hospital over in..." Again he struggled to remember."…Colver." The resignation was plain in his eyes as he finished.." That's where they put people who are retarded or aren't "all there". And, somebody told me that if certain papers are signed, it won't cost dad anything to put me in." He sighed deeply, adding almost as an afterthought, "Maybe Aaron will visit me."

"Who's Aaron?"

"A cousin...I think. I've never met him, but dad's told me that sometimes he stops for a visit when I'm having a really bad headache. Could I rest for a while?"

"Are you getting a headache?" Verbena asked immediately.

Perry shook his head. "No, just tired. Guess however I got here took a lot out of me." He saw Verbena's concern. "I'm okay, really."

While her mind began assessing the information Perry had supplied, Verbena made sure he was comfortable before leaving the Waiting Room. Different pieces of what the young man had said were beginning to take a vague form, and Project Quantum Leap's chief psychiatrist didn't like the way pieces of this new puzzle were falling into place. She stopped at her office on the way to the Control Room to check some things in some of the medical reference books that covered nearly a whole wall.

A half hour later she hurried to find Gooshie. The whole time, one of the last things Perry said to her kept running through her mind. "..however I got here took a lot out of me." Never a superstitious person, Verbena nonetheless felt a chill run down her back each time the words echoed in her mind, and she shivered involuntarily as she entered the Control Room.


	4. Chapter 4

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec Chapter 3 

Having worked at the same job, for not a whole lot more an hour than when he was hired fifteen years ago, Howard Kirkwood knew the twelve minute drive home in his sleep, and right now he was four minutes from home. Good thing tomorrow was payday. Every Friday he bought a carton of Schlitz in bottles plus one. The ancient air conditioning unit in the area of the plant he'd worked in today had conked out, and like everyone else in there, he had sighed with relief when he was able to punch out at four thirty and step outside into the more tolerable eighty degree August afternoon. Now, turning the gray, ten year old pickup truck onto Liberty Street, Howard was looking forward to the last cold bottle of Schlitz he'd seen in the refrigerator that morning. At least he was until he looked ahead and saw a familiar red Chevy in the narrow driveway by his house. Feeling the muscles of his face tighten, the weary man's thoughts of a cold beer vanished as he pulled up in front of 261 Liberty Street.

Al stood to one side, watching Perry's father hurry to the car where Margie and her mother were helping Sam out of the back seat.

"Let me," he said, and reached past them to put an arm around Sam's waist, then took Sam's other arm and put it over his shoulders, and helped him stand. "Come on, son," he said tersely, "let's get you in the house and into bed."

Though it made the roar in his head louder, Sam jerked his head around, looking for Al.

"It's okay, Sam, you can go with him" Al reassured him. "He's your father, Howard Kirkwood."

"Thanks," Sam whispered, glancing at Al who stood with Margie and her mother to one side, out of the way. All three nodded.

"See you tomorrow," Margie smiled at Perry as he and his father passed.

"Hope you get to feeling better, Perry," Margie's mother said gently.

They watched the Kirkwood men climb the front steps and go inside before leaving.

Punching in a code on the handlink, Al ordered, "What? Tell Verbena I'll be there as soon as I can. I want to make sure Sam's okay, first."

The next instant, the hologram disappeared from the postage stamp-sized front yard, next finding himself in a small bedroom. The room was sparsely furnished with a bed, chest of drawers and a small desk and chair. The main light source was a single covered light bulb on the ceiling which, at the moment, was off. The heavy, dark brown floor-length drapes at the window were drawn, severely darkening the room.

In the dim light coming from the hall, Al stood quietly on the opposite side of the single bed. He watched as Perry's father turn down the bedspread and sheet, then carefully undressed Sam down to his underwear. He noted the gentleness with which the big man helped his son to stretch out on the bed, removing the pillow so that Sam lay completely flat.

He stayed, watching as Howard brought a basin of ice and water, tirelessly wringing out washcloths in the water and placing the cold compresses on Sam's face and head. He had even put a towel under Sam's shoulders then folded two washcloths together and put the cold thickness under the back of his neck. Al kept his thoughts quiet as he watched Howard take Sam's head between his hands to keep him from thrashing it from side to side and aggravate the pain. Howard's voice was low and soothing as he helped his son and only child through his agony. It was obvious to the Observer that Perry's father had been through this many times.

After more than two hours, it seemed that the headache's grip had loosened, and Sam was finally able to fall into a fitful sleep. Still Al remained, keeping watch over his friend.

Howard stood by his son's bed, looking down at him, a deep sadness growing in his heart at what he knew had to be done. He wanted to brush the hair back off Perry's forehead, but knew from experience that even the softest touch would wake him from the light, fitful sleep into which he fallen. Quietly he stepped out of the room, drawing the door closed with excruciating care.

Al moved closer to the bed. For several more minutes he watched the gentle rise and fall of Sam's chest as he slept. Then he punched in a code and the Imaging Chamber door opened silently and he stepped inside.


	5. Chapter 5

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 4**

It was the most hellish nightmare Sam had ever experienced.

The pain in his head was his torture master, driving the time traveler down pitch-black corridors, crowding him, not giving him an instant to pause and consider what was happening. A cloak of fear had fallen over him as he stumbled and crawled deeper into the darkness. A clammy feeling of helplessness made Sam tremble as the vicious pain in his head grew. He tried to shake his head, to loosen the claws that seemed to be digging into his skull but he was prevented. Though he couldn't quite understand what words were being said, his mind recognized the concern with which they were spoken. The startling but easing sensation of cold covering his face and head helped a little.

As the pain continued to drive him through the blackness, he felt something, like something or someone had brushed against him in passing. Then, he heard the voice, recognizing the same note of cruel amusement he had heard before, and the fear crawled over him.

Hi, Sam. How's tricks? We'll talk later. Don't go away!

Then Sam was alone in the inky black silence, and the only thing he could be grateful for at that moment was that the pain had mercifully subsided. But where was he? Where was Al?


	6. Chapter 6

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 5**

Entering the Control Room, Verbena went to Gooshie who was closely monitoring Ziggy's control panel. The head programmer moved quietly back and forth, his blue eyes keeping an eagle-eye on the fluctuations of energy and a myriad other things that had to be monitored every time Admiral Calavicci entered the Imaging Chamber to contact Sam. He glanced up, sparing the psychiatrist a glance and a smile as she approached.

"Good morning, Verbena," Gooshie said. "How's the visitor doing?"

Not for worlds would she have hurt Gooshie's feelings, but Verbena took a couple of steps back when his breath assailed her nose. "He's doing better than most," she replied. "Any word from Al, yet?"

As if on cue, Gooshie saw a strong power shift on the control panel. "You two must be thinking alike," he said, grinning. "The Imaging Chamber just powered down. He..." The sound of the secured door into the Imaging Chamber, opening, drew both their gazes.

Al came down the ramp, chewing on his cigar, his mind clearly focused on something. Reaching the control panel, he held out the handlink to Gooshie for recharging. It was then that he saw Verbena behind the control panel, and his attention shifted to her. It wasn't unusual for the Project's chief psychiatrist to be in the Control Room, but considering the person's whose life Sam had leaped into, as well as the circumstances under which he'd just left his friend, it ticked a disquieting note in the back of his mind.

"Problem with the visitor?" he asked around the cigar clenched in his teeth. He took a slow pull from it, exhaling smoothly. Al didn't like the troubled expression that replaced the careful smile Verbena was wearing.

"I'm not sure," she spoke thoughtfully. "But I'd rather talk in my office. Have you got a minute?"

"Lead the way," Al said, taking the cigar from his mouth. He watched, his face expressionless, his gaze considering as Verbena turned and left the Control Room. Whatever was on her mind was even affecting the way she walked. Slowly, carefully, as if her body were on auto-pilot because her mind needed her full attention on whatever it was delving into so deeply. He turned to Gooshie again.

"I want you to keep a close monitor on Sam. Right now, he's sleeping, and I'm hoping he stays that way for a few hours. But if he wakes up, I want to know about it immediately. Is that clear?"

Gooshie nodded. "Perfectly, Admiral."

Al then turned his attention to the hybrid super-computer. "Ziggy?"

"Yes, Admiral?" the computer responded.

"What data do you have on the visitor?"

"At present, I have only been able to ascertain data on Mr. Kirkwood through August 16, 1963."

"Why's that?" Al raised the Chivello to his lips and took a small puff.

"Because on that date, it appears that Perry Kirkwood vanished."

"What..." Al began, but was cut off abruptly by the computer.

"I believe this conversation would be better completed in the secured confines of Dr. Beeks' office," Ziggy said with a note of finality in her voice. She paused. "And, according to my scanning records, Dr. Beeks arrived in her office exactly twenty-seven point three eight seconds ago." Another pause. "To use a human saying that I've come across many times, Admiral, "the doctor is in", and she's waiting for you."

For another moment Al just stood and stared at the globe of softly swirling colored lights that was affixed above and in front of the control panel. He took a long, slow, deliberate pull on the cigar, smoothly exhaling a stream of the cigar's uniquely fragranced smoke. Then he turned and headed for the door.

"Remember what I told you, Gooshie," was all he said as he went out the door, brushing past Tina, who was on her way into the Control Room.

What's wrong with him?" she asked, looking out the still open door then back at Gooshie. "He nearly walked over the top of me, and this outfit will usually catch his eye at nearly two hundred yards."

The Head Programmer took a quick, appreciative glance at Tina's near form-fitting, one-piece powder blue jumpsuit with a swirling silver-sequined design across the front. "It catches my eye at twice that distance!" he thought.

"Something to do with Doctor Beckett," he mumbled, his eyes still tracing every curve that filled the jumpsuit to perfection.

Tina saw what he was doing, and went to stand beside the usually shy Gooshie, and poked him in the ribs. "You can do better than that!" she giggled.

Gooshie felt the heat rise in his face and averted his eyes to the control panel, his hands fumbling over its surface.

"The Admiral was rather pre-occupied when he came out of the Imaging Chamber. When he saw Verbena here, he asked if there was a problem with the visitor, and she said told him she'd rather talk in her office."

"So?" Tina didn't see what the big deal was about that.

Gooshie made a minute adjustment to a dial, then continued. "After Verbena left, Admiral Calavicci asked Ziggy what data she had on the visitor. She said that the data she's found only goes up to August 16, 1963, two days from now, because according to the records, Perry Kirkwood vanished without a trace."

"Yeah, so?"

"When the admiral started to ask her another question, Ziggy said that it would be better if the conversation were completed in the secured confines of Dr. Beeks' office. And that's when he went by you like you were a part of the door frame."

The two were quiet for several minutes, each considering what their conversation could mean. Then, Tina shook her head, coming back to the moment.

"Tell you what, I'll take over for a while so you can go get some lunch."

Gooshie smiled his thanks, and started to leave, then stopped. "One thing. Admiral Calavicci made it very clear that he wants a close watch kept on the monitors of Doctor Beckett's heart rate, respirations and brainwave activity. If you see indications of change, of any sort, in any of them, have Ziggy notify him and Doctor Beeks immediately. Otherwise, he may hang me from some yardarm...even if he has to build the darned thing!"

Tina giggled, waving him on his way. "I'll keep a really close eye on it," she promised. Then a thought occurred to her. "The macaroni and cheese is really good, today!" she called out as Gooshie waved a hand in acknowledgement and disappeared out the door.

In the three or four seconds that Tina watched Gooshie leave, then called out to him, there was a sudden, sharp blip on the monitor of Samuel Beckett's brainwaves. It's sharp, spiky activity lasted a full two seconds, then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

Turning back to the control panel, Tina began a methodical checking of every dial and monitor on it. She cast a sharp look at the dials for Doctor Beckett's heart rate, respiration and brainwave activity, watching them for several seconds. When the activity remained within normal parameters, she smiled and said softly, "Sweet dreams, Doctor Beckett," and moved on down the panel.

A minute and a half later, Tina was at the opposite end of the control panel, away from the monitors, her attention focused on a particular energy reading that she was double checking, and so she didn't see the second blip appear on the monitor for Doctor Beckett's brainwave. This one lasted five full seconds, then disappeared as quickly as the first.


	7. Chapter 7

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 6**

Soft tendrils of cool evening air were rippling the around the edges of the drapes when the figure on the narrow bed began to stir. Slowly he opened his eyes, blinking to focus them in the almost totally dark room. He lay still for several minutes, making sure that the headache was gone, then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wasn't surprised to find himself wearing only jockey shorts, but what did surprise him was his body. It wasn't his.

Getting up, he flipped the light switch on then went to the closet, opened the door. Arrogantly he stripped off the shorts and studied his reflection in the full-length mirror attached to the door.

"Oh, yeah! This is much better," he said, running his hands lightly down his chest to the flat stomach, liking the quiet strength his body seemed to exude.

Turning in profile, right, then left, he continued to take stock of himself. Turning to one side again, he peered over his shoulder, reaching back with both hands to run them slowly over his naked hips and behind, nodding his approval.

He moved closer to the mirror to get a better look at his face. A bit longish in the jaw but handsome. He smiled at himself. Smile's good, too, he thought. "And the eyes.

Satisfied with what he saw in the mirror, the cocky young man leaned even closer to the mirror and looked deep into the green eyes looking back at him. Looking deep within and behind those eyes, he felt the fear of the one waiting uneasily in the dark place, and smiled.

"I don't know who you are," he said, smirking at his reflection. "So, I figured I'd better get a look, while things are quiet. Whoever you are, you've got a great body." He touched himself. "The girls are gonna love it!" Then he was still for a moment, delving into the other's anxious feelings. He smiled at the face in the mirror again, and thought, so the other one could hear, Get used to the darkness. You're gonna be spendin' a lot of time in it.

A sound in the hall made him stop and look toward the door. In a moment the door would open and old Howard would come in. Taking one last quick glance at his reflection, he quickly pulled the shorts on and lay back down on the bed. Taking a deep, slow breath, he closed his eyes and sank down into the darkness within.

He chuckled, his laughter touched with hardness and cruelty when he felt the other one shiver as they passed.

Don't go no where, he taunted, then blended into the blackness.


	8. Chapter 8

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 7**

Climbing the last step, Howard Kirkwood turned down the hall toward Perry's room. Approaching the second door on the left, he noticed the sliver of light under the door. Carefully he twisted the doorknob and opened the door quietly. He stood looking in at his son for several minutes, then let his hand slide down over the light switch. Then there was the low scraping sound of a key turning in the lock, followed by quiet footsteps retreating down the hall.


	9. Chapter 9

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec Chapter 8 

Sam shivered when he felt the cold deep down in his mind as the someone or something brushed past him as he left the darkness. Only when the coldness disappeared did he know for a certainty that he was free of the darkness, and lunged up into consciousness.

Opening his eyes, Sam sat bolt upright, momentarily confused by the darkness. Then the low sound of an air conditioner and crickets chirping somewhere nearby (_the window must be open) _reassured him he was indeed awake, but that it was night.

Taking care to be quiet, Sam got up and found the light switch. Turning it on, he was surprised by his state of undress, but not unduly so, then began to explore the small room.

Finding a thin, brown wallet in plain sight on the dresser, was the first good luck he'd had since this Leap began. It didn't take long to scan the few items in the wallet. A library card, a savings account passbook at Willandale Bank and Trust, and a Florida driver's license.

"Okay," he murmured. "Let's see. I'm Perry Eduardo Kirkwood. Date of birth August 13, 1944. That makes me, him, nineteen years old. What is today's date?" Sam glanced around and saw a limp calendar opened to August thumb-tacked to the wall beside the dresser; August 13th had been circled in red. He looked back at the mirror in front of him and said to Perry's reflection, "Happy Birthday...I think." He noted the address, 261 Liberty Street, Willandale, Florida matched what Al had told him earlier. Putting the wallet down, Sam continued to explore.

A Louisville Slugger baseball bat leaned in the corner at the end of the dresser, a worn mitt hanging on it. An old picture of Whitey Ford, cut from some sports page was tacked to the wall above the bat.

Going to the closet, Sam continued to search, and was surprised to find, on the shelf above the few items hanging in the closet, and pushed to the back, several books on chemistry. All of the books were of a college level, and one he judged was probably required reading for someone pursuing a doctorate in chemistry or physics.

_Now why would he be hiding these books at the back of his closet?_

He thumbed through one of the books, much of the text bringing back memories of a long ago time when it was him avidly reading this book and questioning, much of what he read as he read it. After carefully replacing the books, Sam continued to look through the closet, searching for more clues to this Perry Kirkwood whose life he was living for the moment.

Finding the bright colored shirts and sharply creased khaki slacks and even a pair of blue jeans, also with sharply ironed-in creases carefully hung behind a dark brown raincoat, so as not to be seen by a casual glance into the closet, caused a small warning sound go off in Sam's head. Comparing them to the three pair of plain, dark slacks, two jackets, and two white shirts still in dry-cleaner's plastic, as well as the contents of the room itself, told him plainly that at least one other person shared the room with Perry. But who?

Being even more thorough, Sam went over the room again, looking for any scrap that would give him a clue about the other person who's clothes were hidden at the back of the closet. The search, however, yielded nothing, and finally he conceded defeat. Yawning, he glanced at the clock beside the bed. It was nearly 3:30 in the morning. Sitting down on the bed, he hesitated to lay down, eyeing the invitingly soft pillow hesitantly, as if he expected ...what?

"This is ridiculous," Sam said aloud, more as an exercise in ridding his thoughts of "things that go bump in the night" that might suddenly loom up over him as he slept and...

He shook his head, and said aloud even more sharply, "Enough of this! I'm just tired, that's all. A good night's sleep and I'll be fine."

Getting up, he flipped the light switch off then got into bed, settled his head more comfortably on the pillow and closed his eyes. But it was another ten minutes before near exhaustion won the battle, and Sam at last fell asleep.

Three hours later, he was sleeping so deeply that he didn't hear the soft scraping of a key in the door's lock, nor the little squeak of a hinge as the door was opened a crack, then closed again, but left unlocked. Once more, the footsteps retreated down the hall.

-------------------------

At The Project

-------------------------

After leaving the Control Room, Al had spent the better part of three hours behind the locked door of Verbena's office. More than a third of that time had been spent listening to her detailed report on her initial interview with the young man in the Waiting Room. Having risen through the ranks in the Navy to attain the rank of Rear Admiral, Al had learned early the value and wisdom of listening carefully to a report. Even more important was listening to what wasn't said.

The inflection of a person's voice, the look in their eyes, their body language were often the deciding factor in Al's response to the countless thousands of reports he'd listened to over the years, honing his instincts to a fine degree. Verbena's reports were no different. But he had learned quickly to give full value to any report presented to him by the astute woman who had the intimidating task of keeping an eye on the mental health of everyone at the Project and, hopefully, as he'd phrased it once,"...keep us from becoming a bunch of crazed rats in this underground maze."

Verbena hadn't gotten more than three sentences into her report on Perry Kirkwood when Al's instincts kicked into high gear. He'd listened, hearing everything she said, but it was what she wasn't saying that concerned him most. More than anything it was the troubled expression in her eyes as she carefully paced the confines of the office that was almost as spartan as his own. Getting up, he deliberately stepped into her path. "Spill it," he said, his tone and gaze direct.

"But, I have been..." Verbena began.

"Look," he said, "It doesn't take a degree in psychiatry to see that something's eating at you. So, out with it. What haven't you told me?"

Verbena hesitated, then said, "You'll laugh."

"Let me be the judge of that," Al said. "Having seen what Sam went through with that headache didn't put me in a mood to yuck it up."

"It's something Perry said to me just before he asked to take a nap," Verbena said carefully, hesitating again.

Al could see in her eyes that she was replaying in her head, yet again, whatever it was the young man had said. Her repeated hesitation bothered him, too. Though never a person to plunge recklessly ahead, he had been around her, worked with her enough to know that she wasn't one to shy away from "something in the shadows", either.

Verbena met his gaze and told him, "Perry said, and I'm quoting him, word for word, "...Guess however I got here took a lot out of me..."

"It's understandable," Al said. "A lot of our Waiting Room visitors fall asleep at sometime during their stay. And..."

"No," Verbena shook her head. "It's more than that. It's..." That hesitation again, then, "Laugh if you want to, but I got some bad vibes as soon as he said it."

"Bad vibes!" Al repeated, fighting to keep a straight face. "Did someone turn the clock back? Is it the sixties again?"

"So much for "I won't laugh"," she said.

Al couldn't hold in the laugh that was threatening to make his ears pop if it didn't get out. "Uh, uh. I said, "Let me be the judge". I never said I wouldn't laugh."

"Many of the women in my mother's family are highly intuitive," Verbena said crisply.

"Women's intuition?" Al sputtered, his eyes dancing with laughter.

"You might be able to deal with it better if I called it my "sixth sense"." She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for Al to quit chortling like a gleeful toddler. She decided she'd better get it out in the open. "Perry wasn't laughing, nor was there any laughter in him when he said that to me, Admiral. I got a very strong, distinct impression that he was telling me the truth. Whether he knew it or not, I believe he was right on the money with what he said."

"Oh come on, Verbena," Al said lightly. "You can't believe..."

"Remember when Sam leaped into that women's prison, with Alia?" Her tone was cool and professional. "Remember what happened after you and Sam hypnotized her, and told her she was Angel Jensen? What happened when they put her back in solitary confinement?"

The laughter disappeared as Al thought back to that Leap. He still got the "willies" when he thought about that leap, though he'd never admit it. "She went squirrelly," he said.

"Didn't Sam tell you once, that when he crossed minds with a person with a phobia, that bits of that phobia sometimes stayed with him? Like it did to Alia when she retained some of Angel Jensen's claustrophobia?" Verbena bit her words off short and sharp.

"This kid that Sam bounced out suffers from migraine headaches," Al said, taking his cue from the chief psychiatrist, "not claustrophobia."

"I don't think Perry's headaches are organically based," she said, the expression in her eyes becoming serious, and at the same time, cloudy with concern.

"If the kid doesn't have migraines, then what the hell is causing them?" Al's tone matched hers.

Both nearly jumped out of their skin when Ziggy interrupted. "Doctor Beeks?"

"Yes, Ziggy. What is it?"

"There is a situation in the Waiting Room," the computer said.

Al didn't like "situations". "What the hell kind of "situation"?" he barked, turning toward the door.

"The visitor's voice has...changed."

"Come on, quit playing, Ziggy," Al barked impatiently. "Just tell us what's wrong with Mr. Kirkwood."

"I don't believe "Evalynn" would like being addressed as "Mr.", "Ziggy responded.

"Ziggy, have you fried your circuits?" Al demanded. He would have continued, but the look on Verbena's face as she flew out the door prevented him.

Running after Verbena as she ran pell-mell down the hall, heading for the Waiting Room, Al also didn't like the way his insides were beginning to twist into knots as they rounded the last corner. What he saw when he skidded to a stop behind Verbena just inside the Marine-guarded, double Waiting Room doors made him believe whatever it was that Verbena had been trying to tell him.


	10. Chapter 10

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 9**

Finding a mirror to check herself in was always the first thing "Evalynn" did whenever she sensed Perry needed comforting and help in understanding a situation. But when she opened her eyes, it took several seconds for her to realize that "she" wasn't in the house at 261 Liberty Street. Looking down at the form fitting white jump suit she wore confirmed that thought. "Where am I?" she murmured as she sat up.

_I'm afraid._

_It's alright, Perry,_ she thought soothingly.

_What is this place? It's a hospital, isn't it? That's what the black lady said._

_No,_ she thought to him. _I was listening to your conversation. She said it had been referred to as a hospital. She never actually said it was a hospital._

There was a moment of inner quiet. Then, _Is Aaron here?_

Closing "her" grayish blue eyes, "Evalynn" searched the darkness. Then, _No, he isn't._

_Where is he?_

_I'm not sure._

Getting up, "Evalynn" stretched and yawned, glad of the refreshment of the few hours of absolutely quiet repose Perry had enjoyed. Then seeing the table, the only other object of furniture in the room, she went to it. But instead of finding something with a name or other identification on the table, she'd seen the reflection that wasn't Perry's, and let out a small scream and backed up until "she" collided with the wall.

"Where am I?" she said out loud even as she moved along the wall, keeping her back to it until she reached the corner, and positioned herself against the wall. Across the wide room, was the only set of doors into the room, and she wanted to keep them in full view.

"Where you are is not as important as the fact that you are safe," a low, clear voice said. "What is your name?"

"Evalynn" looked up and around, searching for the person who had spoken. ""Evalynn"," she said after a second's hesitation. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"Someone who can better explain is on the way here, as we speak," the bodiless voice said.

Then a couple of minutes later there was a whooshing sound, the doors slid open and a black woman, and a man dressed in the loudest tomato red suit she'd ever seen, ran in then froze in their steps when they saw her.

Verbena watched as "Sam", or more specifically the person wearing his aura, straightened up to his full height, his back still to the corner. There was keen alertness and wariness in the eyes.

"Perry?" Verbena asked cautiously, moving forward very, very slowly. "Are you alright?"

"Perry is safe."

The slightly higher voice pitch coupled with the suggestion of an older woman's Southern accent made Al's eye widen. Hearing a feminine voice coming from the mouth of an obviously young man gave Al the shivers. Unconsciously he took a half step sideways, hiding behind the slender chief psychiatrist, but keeping an eye on the visitor across the Waiting Room.

"What's going on, 'Bena?" he whispered. "That doesn't sound like Perry."

"That's because I'm not Perry, sir," "Evalynn" replied clearly. "I am "Evalynn". Well?"

"Well...what?" Al managed to get the words out, still peering over Verbena's shoulder as she continued to move with studied care toward the figure in the corner.

"Obviously you were not taught proper manners as a child," "Evalynn" said with a sniff. "What is your name, sir? You do have a name, don't you?"

The combination of "Sam's" gently raised eyebrows, the arch smirk on "his" lips and the lady-like way his hands were clasped had it's desired effect. Al stepped around Verbena, and if she hadn't grabbed his arm, he would have marched across the Waiting Room to go toe to toe with ""Evalynn"".

"No," she whispered sharply.

The look on her face told him she wasn't about to discuss her reasons in the Waiting Room, and he jerked his head toward the door.

"Let's talk," he said tersely, and left the Waiting Room. He waited barely long enough for the double doors to seal behind Verbena, before he was almost in her face.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't go back in there ..." Al began, his tone sharp and demanding, but the steely look in Verbena's eyes hauled him up short.

"I'll give you two," she began, the tensile strength of her tone matching the look in her eyes. "For one thing, if you go charging back in there and start barking and trying to intimidate ""Evalynn"", it could seriously aggravate Sam's situation. And two, you're not talking to a real person." She nodded at Al's look of surprise at her last sentence. "The voice and the mannerisms may say 'female'," Verbena continued, "but this visitor is most definitely male."

"Then explain exactly what the hell is going on?"

"I believe we're dealing with a case of D.I.D.," she replied. "You're probably more familiar with the term M.P.D."

"Stop talking alphabet soup," Al snapped, "and speak English."

"In layman's terms," Verbena said, "I believe Perry suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder..." Seeing Al's still irritated blank look she said, "..you're probably more familiar with the term Multiple Personality Disorder. "Evalynn" is obviously one of Perry's alternate personalities."

Another cold shiver ran down Al's spine. Having been Sam's Observer for better than five years, he had learned to reassess situations with lightning speed when new information was brought to light that might have an effect on Sam's ability to successfully complete a Leap, or affect his safety in a given situation.

Now, his mind went back about an hour to Verbena's report and the conversation that had followed it. Then, as he met her eyes again, he remembered something she had said. "...Guess however I got here took a lot out of me...", and his mind shifted into overdrive. The cold shiver coupled with the way his 'Nam sixth sense was kicking up told him his friend had Leaped into a potentially very dangerous situation. The look on Verbena's face confirmed it.

"This is what you were driving at when you said you got 'bad vibes', isn't it?" he demanded.

"Yes," the psychiatrist said. She searched Al's craggy face a moment then said, "I believe there's a very real probability that when Sam leaped into Perry, one of his alternate personalities remained in 1963 with Sam."

"You mean there's something like...like "her"," Al stabbed a finger at the Waiting Room doors, "crawling around inside Sam's head?" he demanded.

The chief psychiatrist nodded. "And, based on something else Perry told me, I think the headaches are a sort of transitional phase during which the personalities emerge. His blacking out during those transitions is probably another method his mind is using to protect itself."

"What do you mean?"

Al paced up and down the hall. Listening carefully to every word Verbena was saying, he was also remembering the look on Howard Kirkwood's face as he'd left the bedroom after Sam had fallen asleep. A look of sad resignation, like that of a man at the end of his rope, and not liking what he knew had to be done.

"When Ziggy initially told me you wanted any information about headache medication the new visitor might be taking, I went back and talked to Perry. He told me that the headaches he gets are sometimes so bad that he has to lay down in a darkened room and be absolutely still until they pass. Sometimes they cause him to pass out for several hours." She paused. "He also told me, that his father told him that on at least one occasion he was out for four days."

Al's guts twisted like a knot of snakes as every survival instinct that had gotten him through Vietnam continued to increase in intensity with every word that came out of Verbena's mouth.

"How many personalities does this kid have? And for that matter, what brought them about?" he asked.

"M.P.D. is a classic protection mechanism in cases of abuse," Verbena replied. "The most common form of abuse that causes it, is sexual abuse that begins in childhood. But..." she continued sharply, cutting off the interruption she saw in the Observer's dark eyes, "...it can also occur in cases of mental and emotional abuse as well. But no matter how it occurs, the subject diagnosed as suffering M.P.D. has to be treated very carefully if there's to be an eventual successful cohesion of the personalities into one."

"So how many personalities does Perry have?" Al asked.

Verbena pushed her hands into the pockets of her lab coat, her expression reflecting the depth of her concern.

"As far as I know at this moment, only one," she said carefully.

""Evalynn"?"

"Yes. And from her attitude and the way she talks, she seems to be the protective personality. I think she will probably know how many other personalities exist."

"How many could there be?"

Verbena answered his question with one of her own. "You remember the movie "Sybil"?" The way Al's face paled suddenly made her rush to reassure him, "Of course, there could just be one or two. It's all dependent upon the form and severity of the abuse to which Perry was subjected."

Ziggy's quiet voice speaking in the midst of the tense conversation made psychiatrist and admiral visibly jump.

"Doctor Beeks?"

"Dammit, Ziggy!" Al yelled. "Stop sneaking up like that! Geez Louise, give us a little warning next time, will ya! What is it?"

"First of all, Admiral," the computer said, completely unruffled by Al's reaction. "I am incapable of sneaking up on anyone. But more importantly, I believe Mr. Kirkwood has previously mentioned a second personality. Albeit, one he is unaware of, but, I believe, a second personality nonetheless."

"Aaron!" Verbena exclaimed, her mind racing back over the first few minutes of her interview with Perry.

"Who's 'Aaron'," Al asked, not really sure he wanted to know.

"When Perry told me about the headaches, he said that his father had mentioned that sometimes a cousin of his would come to visit during his black out headaches. A cousin he had never met. His father had also told him, that if the headaches didn't get better, he was going to put him in the hospital..."

"Yeah, so?"

Verbena fixed Al with a pointed look. "He was talking about a 'state' hospital in a town not far from Willandale."

"You mean a nut house?"

She nodded. "Perry called it a hospital for the retarded and those who "aren't all there". And, the last thing he said was 'maybe Aaron will come visit me.'"

At those words, an ominous note sounded in the back of Al's mind, and he turned and started for the Control Room at a fast clip, obeying his instincts.

"Where are you going?" Verbena called, hurrying after him.

"To check on Sam," Al said, as he turned left and entered the Control Room.

"Handlink," he barked, catching it as Gooshie tossed it to him in an almost knee-jerk response. "Put me in Sam's pocket. Now, Gooshie!" Al ordered, and entered the Imaging Chamber.


	11. Chapter 11

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 10**

Listening to the Imaging Chamber powering up, Al said aloud, "Gooshie, have Ziggy do a background search on Perry's parents. See if there's any record of a relative named Aaron Kirkwood."

"I'll get on immediately, Admiral," Gooshie's voice echoed slightly in the Imaging Chamber.

"And I want to know the instant you have that information. Even if I'm with Sam," Al said. Then the Imaging Chamber reached full power, and the spartan little bedroom he'd left Sam in several hours before began to come into focus.

---------

When a hand on his shoulder shook him gently, Sam reluctantly let go of sleep and opened his eyes. For a second the man standing beside the bed was a stranger, then he recognized Perry's father.

"Morning, Dad," he said, yawning and stretching.

"Did you sleep alright, son?" Howard Kirkwood asked. "It isn't like you to sleep through the alarm clock ringing."

A glance at the quietly ticking old-fashioned wind-up clock on the bedside table confirmed to Sam that he had slept an hour and half past the six-thirty setting.

"I had... trouble getting to sleep," Sam said, thinking that it really wasn't a lie. How do you tell someone that you didn't get to sleep at the regular time because you "weren't there", mentally, to do so? "It was about three thirty the last time I looked at the clock."

"Well, you better get a move on, or you're going to be late getting to school."

"Oh geez," Sam muttered and jumped out of bed, yanked open a dresser drawer and grabbed a pair of jeans. He was about to fasten the snap on the jeans when he glanced up to see Howard Kirkwood still in the room; the frown on his face told Sam that the jeans were wrong.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"What do you think you're doing?" The question was sharp, the tone it was asked in ominously quiet.

Howard's body language, the way he drew himself up to his full height, the way his jaw tightened, shouted to Sam that he had erred by putting on the jeans. Now, he hesitated to put on the dark blue pullover shirt he'd taken from the second dresser drawer..

"I'm getting dressed so I can get to school," he answered carefully. A glance at the clock on the bedside table now pointed to eight fifteen. Seeing the Imaging Chamber door open behind his "dad" was the best thing Sam had seen so far this morning. Again he asked, "What's wrong, dad?"

"Don't play dumb with me, boy," Howard said, his tightly held anger burning hotter with every passing second. "You get into your proper school clothes or..."

"Do it, Sam," Al said quickly. "Don't ask questions, just do it." He punched buttons on the handlink. "Get a pair of the gray slacks out of the closet and one of the button down sports shirts."

Okay," Sam said, offering a slight smile. "I just...forgot..."

"Shut up, Sam and get changed," Al said sharply. "I'll explain on your way to school. You're first class starts in seventeen minutes, so if you don't get a move on, you're gonna be late." He glanced at Howard Kirkwood's darkening face. "Believe me, you don't want to do that."

Nodding his understanding, the time traveler quickly stripped off the jeans. The intense anger emanating from the older man watching him filled the room, giving Sam an uneasy feeling about turning his back on him to open the closet, but, as long as Al was there, he did as he was told.

Quickly Sam pulled on gray slacks and a plain blue, short-sleeved sports shirt. He felt like a five-year old being scrutinized as he put on socks and shoes under Howard's unrelenting gaze. Al's unreadable expression as he prowled the area between him and Perry's father, almost like a sentry walking a post, didn't help the uneasiness starting to twist his stomach in knots.

Standing up he was startled when Howard moved toward him, then walked slowly around him, inspecting. Sam let out his breath carefully when his "father" just walked toward the door.

"Brush your teeth and comb your hair, and be outside in five minutes and I'll drop you at school," Howard said, never turning to look at the young man still standing in the center of the room. He paused in the doorway, his ramrod straight back still to "Perry". "Don't make me come back up here to get you."

"No, sir, I won't," Sam glanced at Al. "Five minutes." He waited till he heard footsteps going down the stairs.

"What's going on here, Al?" he demanded, turning to the hologram.

"Go brush your teeth, and I'll fill you in on what we've got," was Al's terse reply. "Come on, Sam, move it!" he barked when his friend just stood for another few seconds. "You've already wasted a minute of your five." Moving to the single window in the room, Al watched the angry man in the yard below get in and start the gray pickup truck, then followed Sam into the bathroom.

Sam took two more minutes to brush his teeth and comb his hair, all the while listening to the facts Al gave him. With every word that came out of the Observer's mouth, his stomach twisted tighter. _What have you dropped me into this time?_

"...and, the kid..Perry also mentioned a 'cousin' that he's never met," Al said, trying to cram his nearly four hour conversation with Verbena into the remaining minute and a half. "Some guy named Aaron..."

The comb dropped from Sam's hand, and he grabbed for the sink to steady himself when the jagged-edged pain shot through his temples. "Oh...God!" he gasped as hot needles of pain stabbed through his eyeballs and feeling the strength leave his legs, dropped to his knees. "Oh, God, the pain!" he gasped again, doubling over, his hands clamped on either side of his head as hard as he could press, his body quivering from the intensity of the pain.

Al had never been around a person suffering with multiple personality disorder, but he didn't need an expert to tell him that his friend was teetering on the edge of an abyss. "Sam, look at me!" he shouted. "Did you hear me Beckett? On your feet, mister...Now! Don't you dare wimp out on me you pompous egghead! Sam!" Using every trite phrase that he knew always got under his friend's skin when aimed at him, Al could only watch as Sam toppled over on the floor, writhing.

For Sam the louder and sharper Al yelled, the more the pain intensified. No matter how hard he pressed the heels of his hands against his temples, the searing, throbbing stabs of pain continued to grow. The pressure inside his skull steadily increased and somewhere in his mind, he feared that the top of his head was about to explode.

"Make it stop!" he begged. "Oh God, please make it stop!"

_Okay, Sam_ the mocking voice only Sam could hear said.

Sam scrabbled desperately to hold onto consciousness, but it was jerked away. Unaware that he was physically flailing his arms and kicking his feet, he screamed into his mind as once more he and something or someone passed in the unfathomable blackness.

_Don't worry, Sam_ the mocking voice told him. _You're safe now._

No sooner had he heard the words, and once more Sam found himself alone in the measureless, soundless blackness. Though grateful the pain was gone, a part of him almost wanted it back because at least he knew he would have Al to help him. Here, wherever "here", was, it was only him. And it was lonely. And more than a little frightening.

_Where are you Al?_ For a long moment the lonely thought question hovered on the air near Sam's lips then it was gone, absorbed into the darkness.

----------

Helplessness was a feeling that angered Albert Calavicci. And right now his anger at having that feeling forced on him was aggravated by having to stand in the Imaging Chamber thirty-six years in the future and watch as his best friend was jerked into another man's mental hell.

When Sam suddenly stopped writhing and screaming, the Observer's eyes narrowed. He watched his friend lay for a few seconds, gathering his wits before getting carefully to his feet then smoothed down the shirt.

"Geez Sam, you scared six kinds of mortal hell outta me," he said, moving to stand beside the time traveler. "You okay now, buddy?" he asked, then glanced at the mirror and took an involuntary step back. His blood ran cold as he stared at the smirking reflection of a cocky young man looking back at him. "Sam" turned to face Al.

"What'sa matter, Al? " Aaron said, sadistic pleasure lighting his eyes as he glanced at the hologram before heading for the door. "You look like you just seen a ghost."


	12. Chapter 12

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 11**

Dealing with smart-mouthed, smart ass punks was as natural to Al as breathing, but receiving that sort of treatment from a punk who wasn't an actual person was a spin he wasn't quite sure he knew how to handle. He stood in the Imaging Chamber, at the window of Perry Kirkwood's bedroom and watched the gray pickup truck disappear down Liberty Street. The memory of the menacingly joking words that Aaron had said to him, using Sam Beckett's mouth to do so, made him shiver almost, as one of the nuns at the orphanage used to say "as if a goose had walked over your grave." It also made him angry.

Angry because of the obvious but as yet unknown abuse to which the polite young man in the Waiting Room had been subjected. Angry at the depth and harshness of the abuse that caused such an entity as Aaron to become a needed buffer between Perry and his abuser.

"I don't know who the bastard is that hurt Perry," Al said around the Chivello cigar he lit and then puffed on as he continued to stare down the empty length of Liberty Street, "but I'm damn sure gonna find out." Pulling the handlink from his pocket, the Observer summoned the door to the Imaging Chamber. Stepping inside he said, "Ziggy, tell Verbena to meet me in my office in five minutes."

"I believe that Doctor Beeks is talking with ""Evalynn""," the hybrid computer responded.

That was even better. In spite of the fact that he didn't care for Perry's alternate female personality's personality, Al knew when it was wiser to collaborate with an unknown enemy than to continue blindly insisting on his own way. "Advise Doctor Beeks that I'll be there in about two minutes, Ziggy," Al said as he exited the Imaging Chamber, pausing only long enough to return the handlink to Gooshie before leaving the Control Room at a smart clip.

Entering the Waiting Room almost exactly two minutes later, Al paused in the doorway when Verbena and the "guest" paused in their conversation to look up. _A little touch of the Calavicci charm_ Al thought as he took a slow, calming breath and put a smile in his eyes to match the one on his lips as he went to the hospital bed in the center of the Waiting Room.

The instant's hesitation over the greeting that sprang automatically to his lips was barely noticeable. "Hello, ladies," he greeted the chief psychiatrist and ""Evalynn"". "May I join you?"

Even knowing Al as well as she did didn't make Verbena immune to the famous Calavicci charm, even if she did see right through his ploy. The warmth of his smile was accented by his dimples and the twinkle in his eyes was even more than she could resist. I'll get you for this, Calavicci the handsome black woman thought as she returned his greeting.

"Yes you may, Admiral," she said, letting her own eyes speak in more subtle tones. """Evalynn"" and I were just talking about Perry."

""Evalynn"" however seemed well aware of Al's ploy. "There is such a thing as putting too much sugar in a mint julep, sir," she said in cool tones. But she also wasn't immune to Al's charm as "she", too, invited the presumptuous man dressed in clothes so loud it was embarrassing, to join them. "However, having been brought up properly, I echo this lady's invitation. Please join us." Primly ""Evalynn"" shifted her position so as to be able to face Al and Verbena. She leaned over to pat the opposite edge of the bed where "she" sat. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you," Al said with a smile, "but if you don't mind, I'll stand." He focussed his attention on ""Evalynn"". "I trust you are being well taken care of...ma'am?" He kept his gaze level with Perry Kirkwood's alternate personality, his tone with just the right amount of warmth that had yet to fail in thawing the coolest of feminine receptions. "Evalynn" didn't exactly capitulate, but she did respond to it as a faint blush rose in Perry Kirkwood's cheeks and she dropped her gaze.

"Yes, thank you," ""Evalynn"" said. "The doctor, here, has explained a bit of why and how I came to be here. And, she also...explained what your purpose is in all this."

Al couldn't prevent the rather sharp look he turned on Verbena, but was placated somewhat when she assured him, "Only in the broadest of generalities about you, admiral. But I have been a bit more candid about Perry's position in all of this."

"I'm very pleased that...Someone," ""Evalynn"" darted a glance upward then back to Al, "cares enough about Perry to send someone to help him." "She" allowed a smile to curve "her" lips. "And considering those whom you are going to have to deal with if you're to be successful in your efforts, your friend is going to need someone like you to get him through this."

Al decided to seize the bull by the horns. "You're talking about Aaron, aren't you?"

"Yes, but he's not the only one," ""Evalynn"" replied, folding her hands on her lap.

A question sprang to his lips, but he looked to Verbena first. "How much have the two of you discussed about Perry's... condition?" It was ""Evalynn"" who responded.

"If you're referring to the fact that Perry has multiple personalities, and that I am one of them," she said evenly, not even tempted to be amused at Al's surprised expression, "Doctor Beeks and I have been rather candid with each other." She met his gaze openly. "You may ask me what you will, sir."

A nod from Verbena was all the go ahead that the Observer needed. "How many personalities does Perry have?"

"Aaron and I are the only two remaining," the female personality replied. "And I'm afraid Aaron maybe be about to attempt to...if you will, absorb me and assert himself over Perry."

"How many personalities has Perry had up to this point?" Al asked bluntly. His instincts were telling him that he was coming up against a deviously wily adversary in Aaron and, would need all the ammunition and information he could get before he confronted Perry's alternate male personality.

"According to ""Evalynn""," Verbena spoke up, "at one point Perry had seven different personalities. Of the seven, only "Evalynn" and Aaron remain."

"What happened to the others?"

"Aaron absorbed them," "Evalynn" replied. "He's got the instincts of an animal in that he can almost smell fear and weakness in others. And of the five other personalities, four were young children."

"How young?"

"Timmy was six, a jolly little boy who loved to laugh and play "cowboys and Indians,"" "Evalynn" said. "Annabelle was five and very shy. Marian was four and loved to sing. Henry...was the littlest one. He..." ""Evalynn"" touched her fingertips to her lips as if to stop the quivering that the memory of the "littlest one" conjured up.

Al noted the way she said "Henry" with a catch in her voice, almost on the verge of tears. "How old was Henry?" he asked gently. From the corner of his eye he saw Verbena move to put an arm around ""Evalynn"'s" shoulders.

"He was the baby," The gentle mannered Southern "lady" whispered, fighting back tears that were already glistening in Perry's eyes. "He... he was three." She gulped a deep breath as if to steady "herself" then went on. "Aaron absorbed him first. He went after them like a ravenous beast." She looked at Al. "Have you ever seen a starving wolf attack a rabbit?"

Al nodded, not liking the picture the words drew in his mind. He reached out to take ""Evalynn"'s" hand, squeezing her fingers reassuringly.

"Then you know what it was like for those "little ones" when he stalked them." ""Evalynn"" shuddered. "The screams when he cornered them and… devoured them. Destroying those sweet and gentle aspects of Perry that each one represented."

Like Al, Verbena, too, was painting word pictures in her mind as ""Evalynn"" talked. Her instincts as a psychiatrist, coupled with her natural intuitiveness, were telling her that the Project's Director was possibly in more danger in this leap than all of his previous leaps combined. "You don't have to go on," Verbena said gently. "We can do this later."

"No!" ""Evalynn"" said decisively glancing up at Verbena. "Your... friend is going to need all the help he can get, and the only place he can get it is from me." She turned to face Al. "And you're going to have to be very wary of Aaron, too. Push him too far and he'll attack your friend when he's the most vulnerable to him."

"And when might that be?"

"When he causes Perry to have the violent headaches, which is when he forces the personality in control at the time to retreat so that he can come out. When the controlling personality is in the throes of the headache, is the weakest moment because he, or she, is focused on the intense pain. And if Aaron finds any weakness in your friend, and you push him too far, he'll go after your friend at that point like...like..."

"A ravening wolf?" Al supplied the description.

""Evalynn"" nodded. "And after Aaron absorbs another personality, he adds the strongest aspects of that personality to his, and uses them to increase his strength in beguiling people." She looked squarely at Al. "In one way, Aaron is like you, admiral. He's a charmer, but he's also very deceptive and he's very good at it, so be wary of him. Be very wary."

"Like walking through a mine field at midnight in winter." Al muttered.

"More like playing "chicken" with a spittin' cobra," ""Evalynn"" warned, a touch of anxious gravity in her voice. "He'll go for the eyes every time."


	13. Chapter 13

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 12**

The ride to the high school was silent, but then it always was when Aaron was in control. He half smiled to himself as he glanced sideways at Howard, noting how white the man's knuckles were as he gripped the steering wheel. Serves you right, old man. If you weren't such a damned narrow-minded, bigoted sonofabitch, you wouldn't be dealing with me. But...you started this, and since that pantywaist you call a son can't deal with you, I will! he thought. It's really gonna rip you wide open when... he paused, then put the thought aside. Naw, you're gonna get it when everyone else does.

The truck turned into the broad driveway in front of the high school, and Aaron got out. Slamming the door, he leaned down to look in at Howard and said, "Don't wait supper for me...dad. I won't be home till late." He chuckled, watching Howard's already ramrod stiff posture tighten even more, waiting for him to meet his eyes. After a moment, he chuckled again when Perry's father turned his head to look at him. "Hell, it may be tomorrow morning before I get in. Leave the back door unlocked, okay?"

"You're an animal," Howard said, his voice low and strained as he fought to control the urge to grab "Aaron" by the throat and choke the life out of him. "If you hurt Perry..."

"C'mon, Howard," Aaron said lightly even as his tone and gaze sharpened. "You know me and threats...we don't mix. Besides... kill me, kill Perry."

"I'm warning you..."

The cutting humor vanished as Aaron's attitude took a darker turn. "Don't threaten me, old man! It ain't you callin' the shots any more. I am. And there ain't a goddamed thing you can do about it. Unless of course you want the whole town to know your little secret." He smiled when he saw the color drain from the other man's face. "That's better. Just so's we understand each other." He stepped back from the truck, shifting Perry's textbooks to his other hand, still bent over slightly to maintain eye contact with his adversary. "Remember...dad...don't wait up. Bye."

Watching the gray pickup drive away, Aaron shrugged his shoulders, then turned toward the school. Blending with the crowd of students hurrying into the building, he entered the air-conditioned coolness of Willandale High School. Spotting the three boys lounging against the wall by the office, he headed for them. "Hey, guys, what's up?"

Richie Zimmer, a six foot two inch senior, who looked every inch of the fullback, the position he played on the football team, looked up when he heard the familiar voice. Piercing black eyes looked back at the world from under a fringe of dark blond bangs daring anyone to say anything he didn't like. "Hey. Where ya been, Aaron? Haven't seen ya for almost a week."

Yeah," Don Hambrine, another senior who also played fullback, echoed. "It get's damn right dull around here when you're gone." His quiet voice, china blue eyes, crewcut dark hair and perfect smile had earned him the attention of a lot of the girls, a fact of which he took full advantage. But the looks that made a lot of female hearts flutter, hid a personality that liked things rough and gritty, and was just biding his time till he collected his diploma so he could shake the dust of the little backwater town from his life. "Where've you been hiding?"

"In a very dark room," Aaron joked, "and, I'm the only one who knows where it is and how to get into it. What's been going on?"

"Like Don said," the third member of the group, Jerry Jacobs said, "nothing." A slightly built young man, Jerry was senior editor of the school newspaper and several other clubs. But it was his penchant for everything that his parents had striven to impress on him as "unseemly and participated in by only those of the lowest social standing", that had been his ticket into the group that was shunned by most of the other students.

Irritated by the lack of inspiration in the other boys, Aaron scanned the halls filled with students hurrying to the first class of the day. Spotting the bulletin board on the wall just outside the school's office door, he made his way to it, perusing it idly. His eyes lit up.

"The "Junior/Senior Get Acquainted With Your Class" dance is coming up," he murmured softly, a sly gleam lighting his eyes.

"It's day after tomorrow," Margie Hennessey, a junior, said shyly, glancing up at the young man who bore a strong resemblance to Perry Kirkwood who was in two of her classes.

Glancing at the girl who'd spoken, Aaron didn't even have to sort through Perry's thoughts to recognize her. I can see why he can't keep his eyes off you he thought as he turned on the charm and said, a touch of silk in his tone, "Will you be there?"

"I… yes, I will," Margie stammered, blushing under the appreciative warm look. "I don't think we've met. I'm Margie Hennessey."

"Nice to meet you, Margie Hennessey," Aaron smiled at her. "I just got into town this summer," Aaron lied smoothly. "My name's Aaron. I'm a distant… cousin of Perry Kirkwood. Do you know him?"

"Yes," she said, feeling her shyness fading under the warmth of his focused attention. "He's in my chemistry and history classes."

"Lucky him," Aaron said just as the final warning bell for first period classes sounded.

"I've gotta get going," Margie said, turning away.

"Where you going?" Aaron asked.

"Uh... Shorthand Two."

His agile mind already considering and sorting through myriad thoughts, Aaron shifted his books to his other hand and said, "I'm going to Mr. Pernier's French class. Mind if I walk with you?"

Tongue-tied at the rapid onset of such strong masculine attention, Margie shook her head and smiled. "No," was all she could manage as she headed quickly down the hall, highly aware of Aaron's attractive presence at her side.

Tossing a wink and quick thumbs-up behind Margie's back at the three boys..._you losers_... still standing at the bulletin board, Aaron made light small talk for the few seconds it took them to reach their respective classrooms.

"Want to have lunch with me?" Aaron asked Margie at the door to her class; his winning smile hiding the dark thoughts he wasn't ready for her to see yet.

"I… I usually sit with some friends in the central quadrangle when it's nice," Margie stammered. "About twelve fifteen," she finished then hurried into the classroom, closing the door quietly.

"Twelve fifteen, it is," Aaron said to himself. He watched through the narrow window set in the door, licking his lips as he watched the pretty brunette take her seat. Chuckling softly he murmured under his breath, "I do like 'em soft and sweet." He watched her another moment. "Can't wait to see her expression when I..."

_No!_

The hot needles of pain slamming through his temples caught Aaron completely off guard and he grabbed his head, the textbooks dropping noisily to the floor. "What the hell?" he gasped. He stumbled against the wall, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, the thundering pressure building inside his head making it feel like it was going to explode.

"Stop it! Stop it, damn you!" Aaron hissed, unaware of the thread of desperation in his voice. Dropping to his knees on the hard tile floor, he writhed and cursed his latest "prey" as the owner of his new body exerted unexpected mental strength, forcing him to retreat into the darkness.

In a matter of seconds the transition was done, and Perry Kirkwood's body lay motionless in the empty hall.


	14. Chapter 14

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 13**

In spite of his forced occupancy in the seemingly endless, unnervingly quiet blackness, Sam had decided he'd better get to know as much about it as he could if he were to have any chance of escaping it and helping Perry. If, as his own deepest survival instincts were telling him, he was going to have any chance of getting out...not just alive, but at all.

Moving cautiously, holding as it were, mental hands out in front of him, Sam explored the boundaries of his prison. Some heretofore unused sense gave him the sensation of running his hands over walls he couldn't see, his fingers exploring the surface, feeling, searching it for...what he wasn't sure. A crack, a sliver of an opening that would allow him to escape the oppressive darkness. He found such an opening, but it was an eerie chill that made Sam shiver when he realized that he had moved from the 'room' he was in to another 'room', but ..the darkness isn't so deep in here.

In 'here' it seemed that he could almost see, like looking through murky water at night... and there were 'things' in the darkness. He refused to give in to the unnerving feeling that something was following him, stepping in his footsteps, the horrible "face" just behind his shoulder, waiting to finish scaring him out of his mind if he so much as glanced back. But GTFW must have decided at that moment to give Sam a tiny break, because as he passed through the 'corridor', passing the things he couldn't quite see, to his amazement, he began to 'recognize' some of those things.

A warm memory of being cuddled and gossamer whispers of some lullaby. He stopped, feeling the reassurance of love wrap around him, felt the love draw him closer. The words the voice… a woman's voice...was singing softly became clearer. "...so hush little baby, don't you cry..."

A couple of more steps and a feeling of pride welled up inside him ...something the voice was saying...something about letting go and... walking... Sam relaxed a moment as he 'felt' the pride glowing in the woman's voice. He continued forward.

Suddenly incomprehensible fear seized at the time traveler. Dropping down on the floor he wrapped his arms over his head as if to protect himself from a blow as two screaming, angry voices… a man and a woman...lashed out at each other above him. He thought he felt tears flowing down his face (_do I have a face?) _barely able to make out the question through the vitriolic screaming over

his head. Then he heard a very little boy's trembling voice whisper, almost pleading, "...Mama?.. .Papa? ...Don't fight..." But the voices didn't hear the little voice below them and the fear wouldn't let him up.

Sam had no way of knowing how long he lay there, experiencing the memory of a small, frightened child caught in the midst of a screaming match between his parents, when a cold, clammy feeling of panic started to creep up his spine. He tried to ignore the ugly slithering feeling reaching up, curling over his shoulders, but it wouldn't be ignored as it overcame and drowned out the screaming. It took several seconds for the synapses in Sam's brain to fire fast enough to trigger recognition of the sound. Then a fragment of memory of his own upbringing clarified what the 'sound' meant, and John and Thelma Beckett's youngest son shouted, "NO! STOP IT! I won't let you do that to her!"

In the single angry breath it had taken to shout the words defending the unknown girl at whom he'd sensed the thought was directed, Sam felt himself jerked out of the darkness. It happened so fast that he didn't feel who or whatever it was that always passed him as they exchanged places. He didn't care. All that mattered was that he'd stopped the sinister, disgusting thought that had begun in the unknown entity's mind. Then sensing its release from its prison, Sam's consciousness lunged upward to freedom.


	15. Chapter 15

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 14**

The feel of hands turning him over on his back and the concern in a male voice saying, "Perry... are you okay? What happened?" let Sam know that he was in control again. Opening his eyes he blinked, focusing on the roundish face of the man kneeling beside him.

"What happened? Where am I?" Sam asked haltingly as he slowly sat up. "Who are you?"

The expression of the young man with carefully combed red hair and wearing horn-rimmed glasses was concerned. "It's me, Mr. Pernier… your French teacher. You're in school, Perry." He studied the dazed, confused boy watching him. "I heard something in the hall, and when I checked, you were passed out on the floor."

Sam started to get up, but the man prevented him. "Just sit still for a few minutes. Catch your breath," Edward Pernier said, then repeated his earlier question. "What happened?"

"Guess I must've...fainted," Sam offered the first and only plausible reason that came to mind. Both looked up when the classroom door nearest them opened.

Caroline MacGruder, a woman of about fifty wearing a plain navy suit and flower print blouse, her gray-streaked dark hair done up in a tight French knot stepped into the hall, pulling the door to the stenography class closed. "What's going on?" she asked, her eyes darting to the French teacher still kneeling beside Sam.

"It appears Mr. Kirkwood fainted," he said.

"Can you get up?" she asked.

"I think so," Sam said, and got up carefully. He took the books and notebook the French teacher handed him. "Thanks. I'd better get to class," he said, starting to move away, but was prevented by both teachers.

"You need to see the nurse," Mrs. MacGruder stated firmly.

"I agree," Edward Pernier said. "Come on, Perry" he said, putting a hand on Sam's arm. "I'll walk with you to the first aid room."

In spite of his protests that he was okay, Sam spent a half hour in the first aid room under the nurse's eagle eye, having his temperature taken and drinking some orange juice when he admitted he hadn't eaten breakfast. It gave him time to check his notebook and found that Perry had written his class schedule on the inside cover. When the nurse was satisfied that he wasn't going to pass out again, she insisted on walking him to his class. Handing him a note for the teacher, she said, "Make sure you have some lunch."

Sam nodded and watched her walk away. He was about to open the door to the classroom when he heard the Imaging Chamber door open behind him. Moving quickly away from the door he turned to face the Observer.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded as loudly as he dared. He didn't wait for Al to respond. "The last thing I remember is brushing my teeth. Next thing I know, I open my eyes and find myself laying on the hall floor at school. What's going on, Al? Where have you been?"

"I've been talking to the lady in the Waiting Room," Al replied, taking a slow puff of his cigar. The puzzled look that replaced the irritated greeting told him he had Sam's attention.

"I'm the one with a Swiss-cheesed brain, Al," Sam said, "and even I know there isn't a woman in the Waiting Room. A nineteen year old boy, yes; a woman, no."

"I didn't say "woman"," Al said quietly. "I said "lady". There's a difference." He took another puff of the cigar, exhaling a stream of its uniquely scented smoke. He glanced down the hall just as the nurse's trim figure turned a corner and disappeared. "Why was the nurse here?"

Sam's irritation had evaporated with Al's cryptic reply. Over the years of leaping Sam had learned to read his friend's expressions and moods with swift clarity. One of the things he'd learned about Al was that when he was deliberately vague or cagey, the situation usually held hidden danger. Looking closer he tried to read the hologram's face, but Al's expression was closed. The considering look in those dark eyes coupled with the fact that his friend hadn't made a single comment about the nurse's sleek, hourglass figure, only intensified his curiosity. What is it, Al?" Sam asked, his tone more reasonable.

"Too involved to go into here," the Observer replied. "When do you have lunch?"

Sam checked his notebook. "Perry has lunch from eleven forty-five to twelve thirty." He glanced at his watch, then the notebook again. "It's nine twenty. After this class, I've got calculus and economics."

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," Al said, summoning the Imaging Chamber door. "And, Sam..."

"Yeah?"

"Pay attention in all your classes," Al said. "Don't let your mind wander. Keep focused."

Sam watched the Observer step into the Imaging Chamber and disappear. Shaking off the uneasiness that the cryptic parting words gave him, he entered the classroom.


	16. Chapter 16

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec 

**Chapter 15**

The door from the Imaging Chamber slid open, and Al was greeted by the sight of Verbena standing near Gooshie, her gaze meeting his instantly.

"How's Sam?" she asked. "When Ziggy told me you went tearing into the Imaging Chamber, I wasn't sure what to expect. What happened?"

"There was a radical surge in Dr. Beckett's brainwave readout," Gooshie said. "I've never seen a spike like that on any of his readouts since he began leaping."

"What happened, Al?" Verbena repeated as the Observer came to the control panel.

"I didn't see anything. But when I got there Sam was at a classroom door with the school nurse handing him a note. And when I asked him why she was there, he said that the last thing he remembered was brushing his teeth..."

"...when the Aaron personality asserted itself...," Verbena filled in, remembering the startled, almost spooked look on Al's face when he'd come out of the Imaging Chamber almost as quickly as he'd gone into it over an hour ago. His description of the emergence of the taunting personality of Aaron only confirmed much of what "Evalynn" had told them earlier.

"...yeah. And the next thing he knew, he woke up on the hall floor at school. A couple of teachers found him and took him to the school nurse. She walked him to his class...and that's where I came in," Al finished.

"A second transition," Verbena said thoughtfully, a slight frown furrowing her brow, "in less than two hours..."

"Whatever it was," Gooshie interjected, "it was sudden and very powerful to make Doctor Beckett's brainwaves spike the way they did."

"Al, when Sam was brushing his teeth, what were you talking to him about?"

Al didn't need any refreshing on that. "I was starting to tell him about Aaron. All of a sudden he grabbed his head, fell on the floor, kicking and screaming about the pain. A few seconds later he stopped moving. And that's when Aaron came out."

"When are you going back to see Sam?"

Verbena's sudden focus and questions got Al's attention. "In a little while, when he has lunch. Why?"

"That gives me enough time to go talk to "Evalynn"," Verbena said more to herself as she headed for the door out of the Control Room. As she opened it she said, "Let me know when you're ready to go back to see Sam," and she was gone before the Observer could respond.

For a couple of minutes Al just stood staring after her, wondering what she was pursuing. When Gooshie cleared his throat for the third time, he put aside his wondering.

"What have you found out about Perry?" he asked.

"For one thing..." Gooshie began.

"...his I.Q. is nearly as high as my father's," Ziggy smoothly interjected herself into the conversation.

"How high?" Al asked.

"During the last testing done in the school district, Perry had the highest score in the district."

Al repeated his question. "How high, Ziggy?"

"196," Ziggy replied. "His highest scores were in math and science."

"What else did you find out about this kid?" Al asked.

It was one of those rare times when Ziggy did exactly as asked and began reciting the background information on the current guest in the Waiting Room. If Al or Gooshie had taken a moment to consider the hybrid computer's "serious" attitude as she provided dates and facts about Perry, they might have realized that Ziggy had arrived at the same conclusion as they: that her creator was in the midst of possibly the most dangerous leap yet, and that there was no place for playfulness in such a situation.

"Perry Eduardo Kirkwood was born on August 13, 1944 to Howard Joseph Jesse Kirkwood and Stacia Sophia O'Nyan Kirkwood. His father worked in the

McKeesom Bottling factory at the same job for most of his adult life. Howard Kirkwood never finished school, having dropped out when he was fifteen. He met and married Stacia Sophia O'Nyan in August 1942 when she came to town to teach at the local high school."

"Did you find any pictures of Perry's mother? Or his dad?" Al asked.

"On screen," the computer said.

Moving around the control panel the Observer and Gooshie focused their attention on the monitor set in the panel at the end nearest the Imaging Chamber. As they watched, a black and white newspaper picture of a much younger version of the man Al had watched taking care of Sam when he'd first leaped in, appeared. But it was the dark haired, dark-eyed beauty with him in the picture that caught the Observer's keen eye for beautiful women, and he couldn't help the low appreciative whistle under his breath.

The young woman was dressed demurely in a simple, light-colored summer frock and a wide brimmed white hat decorated with a pale colored (_probably pink_, Al guessed) rose on the band. Yet for all the simplicity the new bride had striven for, Al recognized a sultriness in the dark eyes and the full, pouty lips that was as bold and inviting to the Observer at that moment as it was when the picture had been taken more than fifty years ago. Though she'd pinned her hair up in a very unassuming French twist for the picture with her new husband, it was all too easy for the Observer to summon up a mental picture of what Stacia Kirkwood would look like in...an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, her dark hair worn loose, tumbling about her shoulders, and gold hoop earrings glinting in the moonlight...

Suddenly Al realized where his thoughts were headed, and he gave himself a mental shake. He could see how a rather ordinary looking young man from a small country town like Willandale (_hell… any man from anywhere, _he thought) could fall under the spell of a young woman like Miss Stacia O'Nyan. The only spoken thought he permitted himself was, "Boy!...did opposites attract!"

"Any background on her?" Al had moved away from the monitor and the picture still filling the screen. Even if the picture was over fifty years old, he recognized the pull of sexual attraction, even from a photograph. But recognizing it only made him wonder about her more. A woman like that...a teacher? In a small Southern town? He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and focused his attention on the information Ziggy was reciting. He interrupted the computer only once to ask, "Are you sure about the kid's middle name, Ziggy? I mean...Eduardo? It's not a name that was real common in the deep South in the forties."

"It's on his birth certificate, Admiral," the computer replied, her tone miffed at having her work questioned.

The only sign that Al had noticed Ziggy's attitude was a quirked eyebrow. He remained quiet during the rest of the recitation. About half way through it, something, a thought, an idea began nibbling at the edges of his attention. A past master at listening and maintaining near total concentration on something else was a skill Al had learned early in his military career. While Ziggy talked, every now and then he'd toss the "something nibbling" a scrap of a thought then mentally sat back to see where it would lead or what it would come up with.


	17. Chapter 17

The Face In The Mirror By C. Eleiece Krawiec Chapter 16 

_(Author's note: The name "Docie" is pronounced "Doe-see")_

Even as Verbena Beeks was entering the Waiting Room to talk with ""Evalynn"" again, Howard Kirkwood was turning the gray pickup truck into the empty visitors' parking lot of the Colver County State Hospital. Turning off the ignition he sat in silence for a couple of minutes, not even noticing the stifling heat building up inside the cab as he stared out the windshield at the building in front of him.

The Colver County State Hospital For The Mentally Retarded And The Insane had occupied the same unassuming two-story faded red brick building for as long as Howard could remember. Even as a child he'd heard whispered tales of people who had been committed to the quiet establishment sitting behind the seven-foot red brick wall that encircled the entire acre and a half of land on which the building sat. Staring at the iron bars bolted over every window, he remembered another hot summer night in August...

It wasn't the first time the screaming had jerked young Howard from sleep like a creature snatching at prey. Not even thinking, the boy rolled off the far side of the narrow iron-framed bed and crawled under it. Putting his head down close to floor, he peered between the ragged fringe of the bedspread brushing the floor at the end of his bed, his eyes fixed on the crack under his bedroom door. He watched bare feet rushing past, listened to his parents' shouting to be heard over the screaming.

"Tate, bring the car around front! Ellen get a dose of her medicine ready."

"You know she won't take that pill.." Howard listened to his mother also shouting to be heard over the hysterical screaming.

"Then crush the damn thing an' put it in some water an' we'll pour it down her throat."

"But Will, how can you do this to your sister? She's not like Granmaw Hildie. Docie's never hurt nobody!"

"Not yet," Howard could still hear the grim finality in his father voice. "An' I ain't gonna give her the chance. Me an' Tate's taking her over to the asylum in Colver right now...t'night."

Not until he heard the sound of the his father's 1918 Ford wheeze to life almost an hour later and then fade quickly into the night did eight year old Howard crawl out from under the bed. He'd crept downstairs, then paused at the front screen door, watching his mother sitting on the top porch step in her nightclothes, staring into the darkness. She hadn't said anything when he came to sit beside her and lean against her.

"Mama," he finally whispered, peering up at her face in the dim light of a quarter moon. "Where's daddy an' Uncle Tate takin' Aunt Docie?"

"Over to the...hospital...in Colver," she whispered back.

"Is Aunt Docie sick agin?"

"Yes."

"When kin she come home, mama?"

Howard had shivered when his mother had said sadly, "Nobody never comes home from Colver."...

Thirty-five years later, sitting in his pickup truck with the windows rolled up in the stifling midday heat of an August day, Howard felt the same cold uneasy shiver run down his spine. Getting out of the truck he walked across the empty parking lot to the double front doors of the unassuming red brick building. At the front doors, he paused, one hand on the door handle. Then, feeling the heaviness in his heart, understanding exactly what his mother had felt that night long ago, and with her words echoing in his mind, Howard entered the place where "nobody never comes home from."

--------------------

In the Waiting Room

--------------------

Verbena waited just inside the Waiting Room doors, watching the figure on the bed in the center of the large white room sit up and turn to face her.

"What is it, Doctor Beeks?" ""Evalynn"" said quietly, her gaze meeting that of the handsome black woman. "I can see by your expression that something's the matter."

Verbena hesitated a moment, then spoke. "Our...friend," she began as she moved to stand at the foot of the bed, "and Aaron have transitioned twice today in less than two hours. And judging by your expression, I'd say that's not a good thing."

""Evalynn"" shook her head. "No, it isn't."

"What's a usual time period between transitions?" Verbena asked.

"They vary, depending on the age and strength of the personality, and what Perry needs at any given moment. Or how restless Aaron is. With the little ones," "Evalynn" got up and began to pace, "it was often sudden and over with quickly when Aaron would overpower them."

"What about with you?"

"I'm the only one who can deny him," ""Evalynn"" said. "But I'm getting tired and as we discussed before, I don't think I can resist him much longer."

"Did you ever force him out of control suddenly?"

"Is that what your friend did?" ""Evalynn"" asked, stopping in front of the Project's chief psychiatrist.

"We're not sure," Verbena admitted, then related almost verbatim the account that Al had given her of his last two visits with Sam.

"To answer your question," ""Evalynn"" began as she got in bed and smoothed the white sheet, arranging the fold across her lap just so, "yes, I have, many times, especially when he was stalking the little ones. Or if he was contemplating...forcing himself upon or inflicting coarse behavior upon a young lady while in control of Perry's body." Though genteelly said, the look in her eyes and the meaning of her words were clear as Venetian crystal to Verbena. As the doctor turned toward the door she said, "I've even battled with him once when it was his intention to...bodily harm Perry's father."

Verbena turned and stared at the visitor. "He was going to hurt Perry's father?" she said, a note of unexpected incredulity in her voice.

"No doctor," ""Evalynn"" said plainly, keeping her eyes level. "He meant to kill him."

"Ziggy!" Verbena ordered aloud. "Tell the Admiral I need him in here right now!"

-----------------------

In the Control Room

-----------------------

"Admiral Calavicci," Ziggy announced over the speakers in the Control Room, "Doctor Beeks demands your presence in the Waiting Room immediately."

"Tell Doctor Beeks..." Al began.

"Now, .Al!" the computer's voice had a sharper edge than anyone in the room could ever recall hearing Ziggy use. And she had addressed him by his first name. It was one of the few times that the Observer's train of thought had been derailed to the point that he just stood for a moment, speechless, and then strode out of the room. Upon entering the Waiting Room, Al still didn't get the chance to speak, cut off by Verbena's no-nonsense tone as she said, "Sit down, Al. There's something you need to hear."

There was a time to talk, a time to command and a time to listen. Now, carefully perching on the end of the bed, Al knew it was time to listen. "Go on," was all he said as he looked first at Verbena, then ""Evalynn"", doing what he'd instructed Sam as he gave his complete and undivided attention to what was about to be said.

"When you told me that Sam had just come out of a transition when you got to him this last time, less than two hours after the first one," Verbena began, "it worried me. I'm not up to date on...Multiple Personality Disorder," she said, deciding to keep it simple, "but I've read up on it since this leap began. According to what I've read, and remember from the course I took on it in college, rapid transitions between personalities usually occur when the subject is under high emotional stress."

"But Perry's the one with the emotional problem," Al pointed out.

"True," Verbena agreed. "But..."

"...but when your friend… exchanged places with him," ""Evalynn"" pointed out, "a part of Perry's mind remained and joined with your friend's mind."

"And even though Perry is physically here," Verbena pressed on, "he's still experiencing M.P.D. because waking up... here, caused him emotional stress. But ""Evalynn"" tells me," she flicked a glance at the visitor, "that she's helping Perry to understand that he's safe here."

There was a moment of silence, but Al waited. He knew he'd just heard the preliminaries. Glancing between Verbena and ""Evalynn"" he knew they were about to get down to the main event. After another moment, Verbena quickly outlined her earlier conversation with ""Evalynn"", but not by so much as a flicker of an eyebrow did Al react. Only when she finished did he speak.

"So in essence," Al said, "you're telling me that because one of Perry's alternate personalities is in Sam's mind, that every time any sudden emotional change.."

"Any sudden strong emotional change," Verbena corrected, "such as anger or fear..."

"Okay, whenever any sudden strong emotional change pops up that it's going to make Sam more vulnerable to "Aaron" taking control of Sam's body. Correct?"

"Correct," Verbena said.

"Then what about the incident in the bathroom?" Al asked. "He was just listening to what I was telling him. No anger or fear."

"But you said he was anxious," Verbena reminded, "because of Perry's father watching him get dressed for school..."

"If Howard was in the room watching your friend," ""Evalynn"" spoke up, "it would be because he suspected that a transition either had or was about to occur." She glanced between the admiral and the doctor. "Over the years Howard has become quite adept at reading the signs of impending transitions."

Her words took Al by surprise. "Years! How long has Perry...been like...he is?"

"The first time Perry...needed me," ""Evalynn"" said quietly, "was the night his mother...left. He was four." She just nodded at Al's surprised expression. "The others, the little ones came along in time."

"What about Aaron?" Al demanded. "When did he "come along"? And for that matter, why would Perry need a punk like him?"

But Verbena interrupted with a question of her own. "How old is Aaron, ""Evalynn""?"

"He's twenty."

"And when did he first appear?"

"Shortly after Perry's fifteenth birthday." She smiled, a soft blush coloring "her" cheeks. "It was about the time that Perry first became interested in a girl in his class." Her smile widened. "From the moment he laid eyes on Margie Hennessey, he's never looked at another girl." But Al's next question dimmed the smile.

"And what did his old man think about that?"

"At first he didn't mind," ""Evalynn"" replied slowly. "But he quickly became more restrictive with him."

Al didn't say what was on his mind at that response. Instead, for the third time he asked a still unanswered question. "When did Aaron appear?" he asked, making a real effort to keep his voice calm.

"In the early evening of Perry's fifteenth birthday, Howard allowed him to invite a few of his friends to the house for a small party. Hot dogs and ice cream and cake. He only invited five. Margie was one of the two girls he invited." ""Evalynn"" paused, the look in "her" eyes telling Al and Verbena she was remembering that time. Shaking herself, she hurried on. "Anyway, it didn't last long but they seemed to have fun. Margie was the last one to leave, and Perry...and Howard walked her home." She glanced significantly at Al.

The Observer read the message in the glance the first time. "What happened?" Al asked. Though it had been a very long time since his fifteenth birthday, he had a fairly good idea of what was about to be said. He wasn't far off the mark.

Verbena however was noticing that ""Evalynn"" was beginning to fidget as the discussion intensified. Unobtrusively she caught Al's eye, then glanced at "Evalynn's" hands endlessly twisting a corner of the sheet as she talked. She caught the almost imperceptible nod of understanding, but did not interrupt the flow of information coming from the visitor.

"...Margie lives just two blocks from Perry's house, and it was a nice evening so they decided to walk to her house instead of driving. Howard walked a little ways behind them. Anyway," she said, her agitation growing as the memory became ever more vivid, "when they got to her house, Perry walked her up to her door. Howard waited on the sidewalk, watching them. And then..."

Al's eyes kept darting from "Evalynn's" face to her hands, now twisting the sheet even tighter. Getting up he moved to stand beside the visitor and gently laid his hand on "hers". "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

At Al's touch ""Evalynn"" became still, her eyes flying up to meet the Observer's dark eyes. Reassured by the quiet strength and understanding "she" saw there, ""Evalynn"" felt the restlessness and tension within ease a little. "Yes...thank you," she said with a hesitant smile. She was unaware though, that she continued to hold Al's hand tightly as she hurriedly finished relating the memory.

"It was perfectly innocent," "she" said earnestly.

"What was?" Verbena asked. It was Al who answered her question.

"Perry kissed her goodnight, didn't he?" Al said softly.

""Evalynn"" nodded. "It was his first kiss," she whispered. "A soft, sweet, shy little kiss."

"What did his father do?"

"He yelled, "Stop that!" ""Evalynn"" said, talking as fast as she could. "Then he stomped up onto the porch, grabbed Perry by the arm and dragged him down the steps just as Margie's mother opened the front door." By now tears were standing in "Evalynn's" eyes as she looked up at Al. "He was so shamed and embarrassed. And then when they got back to the house..."

"Evalynn's" tension had renewed, now an almost viable, living thing pervading the Waiting Room as Al and Verbena waited for the last of the memory to be spoken. A long, nerve-stretching moment of silence passed. It was Verbena who finally broke it. Moving to stand on the other side of the bed, she laid her hand on "Evalynn's" shoulder.

"What happened after Howard and Perry got back to the house?" she asked quietly. "It's okay," she reassured the trembling figure on the bed when the tear filled gray-blue eyes looked up at her. "It's an ugly, painful memory that's been buried far too long, ""Evalynn"". And often the healing process can be as painful as whatever caused the injury in the first place. But it has to be brought out into the light and dealt with openly and honestly if Perry's ever going to have the chance at a normal life."

As ""Evalynn"" began to talk, Al felt his guts began to twist as a hatred and rage buried over thirty years ago began to burn afresh within him. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to give vent to it as he listened.

"Howard locked the front door," ""Evalynn"" began, "and then he turned around and slammed his fist into Perry's face, knocking him halfway down the hall. Then while Perry was still dazed, he jerked him to his feet and dragged him upstairs...to the attic."

"Why the attic?" Verbena asked.

"It's where he always takes the boy to punish him," ""Evalynn"" whispered. "Perry cried and begged his father not to punish him. Promised that he'd never do it again, but Howard wouldn't listen. I..I don't think he even heard Perry."

"Go on," Verbena said.

"In the attic..." ""Evalynn"" got off the bed and began pacing agitatedly round and round as if attempting to get away from the ugliness pouring out of "her" mouth. "...Howard forced Perry to strip, then stuffed a rag in his mouth and tied another across it...like he does every time. He tied his wrists with ropes he had attached to two rings he'd bolted to one of the rafter beams, and then tied ropes around his ankles and secured each one to a ring set in the floor, then pulled the ropes tight until he was stretched until he couldn't move. It...it was like he was spread-eagled in the air."

The mothering side of Verbena clamored at her to take the young man in her arms and try to sooth him, but the experienced psychiatrist ignored that inner urging. Instead she kept her attention focused on the visitor, not only hearing but also listening to the agony being relived as the young man who had endured the atrocities, struggled through ""Evalynn"" to fight his way out of the black hole of pain and terror that had incarcerated him for most of his life. But all of her experience couldn't keep the Project's psychiatrist's hands from balling into fists inside the pockets of her lab coat.

Now ""Evalynn"" couldn't stop moving as she continued exposing the horror endured by the young man who was her host. Like a boil that has festered far too long and has been lanced, the fetid corruption of ugliness of physical and emotional abuse continued to pour out. The longer "she" talked the rawer the emotion in "her" voice became, the more tortured the look in "her" eyes.

"He...took off his belt and began to beat Perry and...scream at him," ""Evalynn"" gasped the words as if they were being jerked out of "her". "Lash...after...lash...swinging that belt so hard...it left welts. Horrible welts...that bled. And the whole time he never stopped screaming..."

"What was he screaming ""Evalynn""?" Verbena asked, speaking in a loud, firm voice in order to be heard.

"..."Don't you never touch a woman again, boy!"..." ""Evalynn"" shrieked, the raging words echoing off the Waiting Room walls, the intensity of emotion causing a sort of shock wave to ricochet off of and over the room's occupants. "You may have her blood, but so long as there's breath in me, you ain't never gonna be one of 'em. Chicken stealin', shifty-eyed...Never! Never! Never!"

"Verbena, do something!" Al shouted. "He's gonna have a nervous breakdown!" Not waiting for the psychiatrist to respond, he moved to restrain the young man now acting out the beating even while his "protectress" continued to scream. But...

"AL! DON'T TOUCH HIM!" Verbena shouted, darting forward to push the Observer away from Perry/""Evalynn"".

"Why the hell not?" Al demanded, his tone and attitude slipping into "admiral mode" as Sam had once dubbed it. It was a tone he usually reserved for visiting officials and other stuffed shirt-types, but at the moment, he needed it, needed the security of his authority to shield him...to push the old memories back. To keep them at bay until the drenching, cold sweat that had sprung up all over his body could dry and fade away, taking the memories with it.

"Because he might think it's his father," Verbena said, her tone sharply decisive, "and he could turn violent." For a few seconds she locked gazes with the Observer, then nodded slightly when she saw his expression relent, watching him step back a few feet.

From that brief distance Al watched, listening as Verbena, her voice firm and calm, began moving toward Perry/""Evalynn"". Talking reassuringly, her words slow and even, helping the tormented young man understand, to calm him...

"It's okay," Verbena said soothingly, repeating it over and over as she moved closer until she could put a hand gently on one of the visitor's up-stretched arms. "It's okay. He's not here. You're safe." Her attention sharpened, watching as the visitor's expression changed, the eyes blinking then closing, the body swaying slightly, then as suddenly as it had begun, the screaming stopped. Still she didn't move her hand, not flinching when the visitor placed a hand over hers. Then...Perry opened his eyes.

"Easy! Easy!" Verbena reassured when he gasped at the sight of his hand over hers. "It's okay."

"But… Daddy said..." Perry began, his eyes darting nervously around the large white room.

Verbena reached out her free hand, her fingertips brushing lightly across his forehead, gently pushing the sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. "I know what your daddy said. But I'm not him, and I don't mind."

It was the longest fifteen minutes of Al's life as far as he could remember, waiting and watching as Verbena talked with Perry. He moved unobtrusively closer to the Waiting Room door to give her and the now exhausted young man as much privacy as he could, yet kept a keen eye on them. He listened as she talked openly with Ziggy, ordering a low dosage of a mild tranquilizer to be brought to the Waiting Room.

Several minutes later, after administering the tranquilizer and helping the visitor get settled on the bed again, Verbena joined the Observer by the door. She watched Al put his hand on the recessed recognition plate, and as the door slid open, followed him out. In the hall they stood for a long moment staring at each other. Finally she glanced at her watch.

"It's almost time for you to contact Sam, again," she said.

Al also checked his watch, then headed down the hall in the opposite direction. "I need a shower first," he said in a tone that forbade any argument. "A very cold shower," and then disappeared around the corner. A few seconds later the low hum of the elevator activating was Verbena's only companion as she stood in the empty hall.


	18. Chapter 18

The Face In The Mirror 

**By C. Eleiece Krawiec**

Chapter 17 

Though Perry's calculus and economics classes held little challenge for him, Sam nevertheless remembered Al's cryptic parting words and immersed his mind and attention fully in each subject. A couple of times when he had allowed his thoughts to wander, he experienced a flicker of pain in his temple. And in each instance, Al's parting admonishment flashed through his mind, and Sam had quickly plunged his attention into the lesson being taught. Both times the pain disappeared.

When the bell rang marking the end of the economics class, Sam followed his classmates to the lunchroom. Until the moment he entered the cafeteria and his stomach growled, he'd forgotten that he hadn't eaten anything yet. Tucking the textbooks under his arm, Sam dug his wallet out and found exactly two dollars and thirty-six cents. It got him the plate lunch, meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans, and two pints of milk, with a few cents change. Juggling the lunch tray and his books, Sam spotted an empty table in a far corner and headed for it.

He'd just taken another bite of the meatloaf ..._do all school kitchens use the same recipe for meatloaf?_... when he heard the familiar sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening behind him. Surprise registered immediately in his mind when he heard Al say, "Don't acknowledge me, Sam. I know you can listen to a conversation while you're thinking about something else, so do it now. Don't talk. Just keep concentrating on your food and listen.."

Taking another bite of meatloaf, Sam nodded, his mind agilely shifting gears, preparing to receive the new information. He also realized that if he allowed his mind to dwell on whatever Al was about to say longer than it took to hear it, he sensed that it would trigger an internal uneasiness...that might trigger... He jerked his thoughts from that path, and concentrated instead on the flavor and texture of the forkful of green beans he was chewing.

The ten-minute icy cold shower he'd taken after leaving the Project's psychiatrist in the hall outside the Waiting Room had the effect Al wanted. Gasping and quivering from head to toe, he had endured the icy needle-like spray pummeling his body, the shock of the frigid water flushing his mind clear of the last remnants of the old memories, along with the sticky sweat that had glued his clothes to his body. Though covered with gooseflesh from his head to his heels, his lips almost blue, when the Observer at last turned off the water and reached for a towel, his mind was clear, his focus and reasoning again razor sharp. He deliberately chose a bold outfit of red and black, the black shirt sporting a motif of electric blue lightning bolts.

He had paused after his odd first words, watching his friend's face, gratified to see Sam nod his understanding, his expression unchanged.

"Though we don't have all the details yet ," Al began, deliberately staying behind Sam, "we're starting to get a pretty good idea of what originally happened to Perry. And it's not pretty." He paused, quickly gathering his thoughts in the order he wanted to give them to Sam.

"Perry Kirkwood was abused, physically and mentally by his father," Al began, keeping his tone and manner crisp and sharp. "From the information we've... been given, it probably started when he was about four years old, and became progressively worse as he grew older."

"How bad?" Sam asked softly, keeping his thoughts focused on the buttery creaminess of the mashed potatoes he had just swallowed.

"Sam!" Al admonished sharply, forgetting his intention as he moved around to face the leaper. "I told you not to talk!"

Keeping his eyes on his plate, Sam responded, "You said it yourself, Al, I can do both. So talk. How bad?"

"Listen up, mister!" Al snapped, his attitude shifting into "full command" mode. "I told you to keep your eyes and your attention on your plate and to eat and listen...in that order." Another pause, "Do you understand me, Mr. Beckett?" Admiral Calavicci enunciated each word with a warning sharpness.

The sudden vehemence of Al's voice and attitude caught Sam unaware, and he swallowed wrong. Coughing, he grabbed a carton of milk and gulped it down. Setting the empty carton down, he began eating again, nodding in response to the Observer's last sharp question.

Al punched in codes on the handlink then gave Sam the background information on Perry. "Your full name is Perry Eduardo Kirkwood. You were born on August 13, 1944 to Howard Joseph Jesse Kirkwood and Stacia Sophia O'Nyan Kirkwood. Howard dropped out of school at the age of fifteen, and then worked in the McKeesom Bottling factory at the same job for most of his adult life. He met and married Stacia Sophia O'Nyan in August 1942 when she came to town to teach at the local high school."

While he listened to Al, Sam slowly finished his lunch and the second carton of milk. So far, the information didn't sound too bad. But Al had also said..."It's not pretty." So he shifted mental gears and began mentally dissecting and comparing elements of the Pauli Exclusion Principal. It was the right thing to do. If his mind hadn't been so intricately occupied, the rest of the information the Observer gave him would have floored him. But even the mental sleight-of-hand wasn't enough to prevent a millisecond of uneasiness from flitting through his mind as Al finished the ugly details of what he'd witnessed in the Waiting Room. Nor did it prevent the sudden flicker of pain that jabbed through his temples right behind the uneasiness. Stubbornly, the leaper fought back as he began mentally translating Homer's Iliad from its original classical Greek into an ancient Japanese dialect. The pain vanished.

Getting up from the table, Sam carried his tray to the dish cart and without looking at the hologram, said, "Restroom."

"What?" asked the middle-aged woman running the cash register at the end of the cafeteria line nearby.

Sam smiled sheepishly at her. "I need to go wash my hands ...in the restroom." The odd look she gave him as he moved away didn't bother him. He'd seen too many of them in his years of leaping.

The only occupant of the boys' restroom was departing as Sam entered. Quickly he checked the stalls...empty... then turned to face the Observer.

"Before you go up in flames," he said quietly, lifting his hand in an abrupting move to cut the Observer's next round of orders, "my mind is occupied. We won't be interrupted."

"You sure?" Al asked suspiciously, his gaze narrow and piercing as he searched Sam's face.

"Mentally translating the "Iliad" from classical Greek to an ancient Japanese dialect demands a lot of intense concentration," Sam assured him.

"Okay," Al said after a moment.

"How's Perry?" Sam asked.

"He's resting," Al said. "Verbena gave him a mild tranquilizer. How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay. Now that I know what's going on, I should be able to control...him," Sam said, deciding, almost superstitiously not to say the name.

""Evalynn" says he's always listening," Al said. "She also said that he's very cunning, stay on your toes all the time, Sam. I've... seen him, and he's everything "she" says he is."

"What else has Ziggy come up with?" Sam asked, leaning against a sink.

"After we got Perry calmed down, I told Ziggy to dig deeper and get everything available on Perry and his family for the last two generations."

"Why so far back?"

"Because susceptibility to certain forms of mental illness can be passed genetically," Al said, putting his cigar in his mouth.

Pulling the handlink from his pocket, he began punching buttons. "From what Ziggy's come up with, that susceptibility is a fact of life for Perry. At least on his father's side.

According to Ziggy, in the last two generations alone, four members of Howard Kirkwood's family have been confined in the Colver County State Hospital." Glancing up he saw Sam's incredulous expression and nodded.

"His great-uncle, Obadiah Beecher was committed to Colver in 1892. Three years later Obadiah's younger brother, Alvin was committed. In 1912," Al continued the grim recitation, "Howard's grandmother, Hilda Kirkwood was committed to Colver at the age of forty-nine."

For a split second Sam's concentration slipped. But in the next instant the mental translation resumed.

Al continued. "According to the hospital's records, on Christmas Eve in 1911, Hilda Kirkwood got up in the middle of the night and while her husband and four children slept, set fire to the family home. According to the records, when asked why she did it, she said a voice told her to purge all impurity from the house so it would be spiritually clean for Christmas."

Al hesitated as he met Sam's eyes. "Fifteen year old William Jesse Kirkwood, Howard's father, and his thirteen year old sister, Theodocia Jane Kirkwood, were the only survivors."

"That's only three," Sam pointed out.

"In August 1926," Al continued, "Howard's father had Theodocia committed to Colver. Seems she woke the family in the dead of night screaming about devil voices tormenting her." Al paused to take a deep breath. "Theodocia's still alive. She's been locked up in Colver for the last thirty-five years."

For a few minutes the restroom was quiet. Al paced while Sam considered all he'd just heard. The Observer nearly jumped out of his skin when Sam said at last, "Without being able to review the medical records, it seems that one possibility is a family tendency toward schizophrenia. Something else worth considering is possibly early onset Alzheimer's...as far as the grandmother is concerned."

"Ziggy agrees with you," Al said. "And based just on what Perry's been subjected to I'd say that physical and mental abuse has to be added into the mix."

"And depression," Sam added.

"How do you figure?" Al asked.

"Consider the time period we're talking about," Sam pointed out. "In the early years of this century, women and children weren't considered much better than possessions, at least to some men. Think about it; if you were a woman at the turn of this century, and married to such a man. He expects you to obey without question, subject to his every whim. And if you don't..."

It only took a few words for Al to see where Sam was headed. He finished the thought. "He beats the hell outta the woman."

"And being in an era where divorce wasn't even a remote possibility for most women," Sam continued, "Wouldn't it depress you to know that you had no one to turn to if your husband decided to punish you for defying him?"

"I would've punched his lights out," Al said darkly.

"No you wouldn't," Sam said. "You'd have done what so many women did. You would've endured the beatings..."

"... at least until he killed me," Al said.

"Or," Sam said, straightening up, "your mind devised a way to deal with the abuse." For a moment he looked into Al's dark eyes. "But unfortunately, when that happens, it either begins, or continues, a vicious circle of abuse. Abuse that you, the abused, direct at others. And all too often the others..."

"...are children," Al finished Sam's sentence. "And if they survive it, they continue it with their own kids."

Only the survival instincts he'd learned as a captive of the Viet Cong kept Al from being intimidated by the massively oppressing atmosphere in the restroom. He could only wonder how Sam was managing it. He didn't dare ask. Such a question might give the wily Aaron an opportunity to take control again.

"What about his mother's side of the family?" Sam asked.

Glad of the diversion, Al punched in more codes on the handlink. "Ziggy's been doing a lot of digging and for all she found, it isn't much." His brow knitted in a thoughtful furrow. "This is interesting..."

"What?"

A couple of boys entering the restroom just then forced Al to cool his heels for several minutes; Sam busied himself washing his hands. The boys left and the Observer quickly picked up where he'd left off.

"Howard Kirkwood dropped out of school when he was fifteen, but he can't read above a fifth grade level. And yet he married Stacia O'Nyan when she came to town to teach at the local high school. I guess the old saying that love is blind, really applied to her and Howard."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, once more leaning against the sink. He glanced at his watch. "I've got about seven minutes of my lunch break left," he warned.

"Ziggy found a picture of the newlyweds in the paper," Al explained. "And I'm here to tell you that Stacia O'Nyan was one gorgeous babe."

"Al... could you please..," Sam sputtered.

Quickly the Observer punched in another code on the handlink. "Look over my shoulder."

Sam did as instructed. Peering closely at the tiny screen on the handlink he whistled softly under his breath.

"Yeah," Al affirmed. "That's what I thought, too." For the second time that day he gave himself a mental shake to keep his thoughts focused. "I ask you... how could a redneck from a little backwater town in rural Florida manage to snag a woman with looks like that?"

Sam continued to stare at the postage stamp-sized picture, feeling himself drawn into the smoldering depths of Stacia Kirkwood's eyes. "Anything else?" Slowly as the Observer continued reciting information, Sam felt the allure in the dark eyes in the picture getting stronger. He forced himself to move across the small restroom. He dashed some cold water on his face, then returned his attention to what he was being told.

"...Things were good for the first couple of years, but then, she started to get restless. Howard didn't care for the things she did. Higher education was one of those things." He quirked a brow, waiting for Sam to read his eyes. After a minute, he continued.

"Things quieted down for a while after Perry was born. But then they started going down hill fast when he was about three. The year he turned four she and Howard had a major blow up one night..."

"About what?"

"According to one of the neighbors, she wanted to leave Willandale and go back to her family. And teaching. She had taught college about a year before coming here to teach. Any way, Perry heard and witnessed the argument, from what Ziggy found in the gossip corner of the town's newspaper, the police had to be called in to make them stop. Guess the neighbors didn't like a six round bout going on at two in the morning. Anyway, what it boils down to is that Stacia left Howard and Perry. In fact, she was gone before dawn."

"What was the fight about?"

From what Ziggy was able to find, she wanted to take Perry to concerts and plays and stuff. But Howard was dead set against it from the start. And according to that same neighbor, Howard said, "No son of mine is going to waste his time stuffing his head full of nonsense that "doesn't do a tinker's damn worth of good toward being able to earn a living and make his way in a world that kills off the weak."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. She also wanted Perry to start taking music lessons." Al looked at the time traveler's occupied, thoughtful expression. "Howard was against that, too."

"...a tambourine...," Sam murmured to himself, then suddenly... "That's it!"

"What are you talking about, Sam?" Al demanded. "That's what?"

"She's a gypsy!"

"Did you say she's a gypsy?" Al said sharply. When Sam nodded, his gaze narrowed. "Who am I talking to?"

Al's intense focus on Sam was interrupted by the bell ringing for the beginning of the next class period. "Geez," he muttered, glancing around, then back at Sam. What he saw put him instantly on alert.

The time traveler was sagging heavily against the sink, his fingers pressing hard against his temples, his expression pained. Feeling his sixth kick into high gear, Al repeated his last question.

"Who am I talking to?" he demanded.

The deceptive smile that greeted him when the figure leaning against the sink straightened up confirmed his suspicions. Still, he waited for an answer.

"You were talking to Sam," "Aaron" said, his smile dissolving as his anger surged up. "But not any more...Al. I'm in charge now."

_Name, rank and serial number...nothing more._ The thought was nearly subconscious as the Observer kept his gaze fixed on Sam's body, controlled once more by the ruthless "Aaron".

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Don't play dumb, Al," "Aaron" snapped. "You know who I am."

"Do I?"

"We met in Perry's bathroom this morning," the cocky personality supplied. "Remember... Al?" Turning around, he preened in front of the mirror a moment then turned to face the man watching him so intently. Annoyed that a prompt response wasn't forthcoming, "Aaron" went to stand in front of the hologram. "Well?" The hologram's continued silence turned "Aaron's" annoyance to anger.

"Dammit, say something!" he shouted, leaning forward, pushing Sam's face within inches of the shorter man's nose. Another silent moment. "I told you looked like you'd seen a ghost?" Nothing.

"Aaron's" anger grew ugly, his expression darkening. "Goddammit...talk!" he raged, and threw a punch at the silent man.

Al's expression was bland as he watched the color drain from "Aaron's" face when the punch passed through his image. He took a slow puff of his cigar, watching "Aaron" hastily retreat to the other side of the restroom.

Pulling out the handlink, he summoned the Imaging Chamber door. Stepping inside, he met "Aaron's" still pale, startled gaze. "Now who's seeing ghosts?" he asked, then punched a button on the handlink and closed the chamber door.


	19. Chapter 19

**The Face In The Mirror**

**By C. Eleiece Krawiec**

**Chapter 18**

The Observer came out of the Imaging Chamber with his mind racing, his expression determined. Gooshie was the first person his gaze fell on. The intent look made the head programmer's palms start to sweat. But it was to Ziggy he spoke first.

"Ziggy?"

"Yes?"

"I want you to dig into Perry's mother's background. I want to know everything there is to know about Stacia Kirkwood, and I want to know yesterday!"

"But, Admiral, Ziggy's already done that," Gooshie pointed out.

"Then she'd better stop rubbing her tummy and patting her head, and dig harder," Al barked. "I need more information on Stacia Kirkwood, and I need it now! You got that?"

Gooshie gulped and nodded and immediately turned his attention to the control panel before him.

"What do you expect Ziggy to find, Al?" Verbena asked, entering the Control Room just as he finished barking at Gooshie.

"That she's a gypsy," Al said.

"Did you say...a gypsy?" Verbena repeated, not sure she'd heard correctly. "Where did you get that idea?"

"Sam," Al said. "Just before Aaron showed up again."

"Another transition? That's three in less than twenty-four hours." Verbena said, clearly alarmed. "When did it happen?"

"A few minutes ago," Al said. "Sam and I were talking. I'd given him the information about Perry's family. We were discussing it..."

"Wasn't that awfully risky?" Verbena asked. The worried expression on the Observer's face showed that he agreed with her.

"You know Sam," he said, taking a puff of his cigar. "He was doing some mental gymnastics while we talked just so Aaron couldn't listen in."

"What did he do?"

"Translated something from Greek to Japanese in his head."

"So how did Aaron slip through?"

"Well," Al began, then glanced around the room. "Let's go to my office." As they moved toward the door, he spared a glance at Gooshie who had moved to the far end of the control panel. When the head programmer darted a nervous look at him, Al started to bark again, then thought better. "Come on Gooshie. I'm not sure where this is going, but I think you need to hear it, too."

Even before the threesome left the Control Room, Ziggy had begun a more exhaustive and minute study of the Visitor's maternal background. She decided to save her scathing retort to the admiral's comment for another time.

When the private meeting in Admiral Calavicci's office finished an hour later, the hybrid super computer was reviewing the new information she had found concerning Stacia O'Nyan Kirkwood. At the same moment she noted the meeting ended and the threesome headed for the Waiting Room, the computer she was attempting to interface with finally accepted the connection. At near the speed of light Ziggy found the file containing the last particular record for which she was searching. It took six seconds for Sam Beckett's brain child to confirm what other sources had first suggested. After recording the new information in the permanent record on the current Visitor, she 'went' to the Waiting Room.

--------------------

In the hall outside the Waiting Room

---------------------

As they turned the corner and approached the guarded Waiting Room, Al paused. He looked first to Gooshie.

"How long will it take you to adjust my mind's sync with Sam?"

"Considering what we've talked about admiral, perhaps an hour."

"Get to it. It's bad enough having to watch when "Aaron" takes over Sam's body. I don't want him sneaking up on me anymore. The less he knows about Sam and me, the better." Al waited just long enough for Gooshie to nod then hurry toward the Control Room, then turned to Verbena.

"Is Perry up to talking?"

"What are you going to talk about?"

"His mother."

Verbena considered for a moment. "If you don't push too hard," she said, "he should be okay."

Entering the Waiting Room, Al and Verbena approached the hospital bed in the middle of the large quiet room. The figure on the bed stirred as they neared, watching them through sleepy eyes.

"How are you feeling?" Verbena asked, picking up the young man's wrist to count his pulse. Regular and calm.

"Like I do after coach makes us run wind sprints," Perry said with a tired smile.

"I can imagine," Al said. He glanced at Verbena, then back to Perry. "Do you feel up to talking?"

"I guess so."

"Tell us about your mother," Al said. "What was she like?" He was aware that any bits of memories Perry was able to recall would be hazy at best. He was wrong.

Perry thought a moment, then said, "She was beautiful."

"Beautiful?" Al repeated the unexpected response to what should have been a vague memory at best.

Perry's smile relaxed and widened. "Yes." He paused, his brow furrowing as he thought for a moment. "Granddaddy Kirkwood once called her a "campfire beauty"," he said. "I remember he winked at daddy when he said it." The smile vanished. "Daddy didn't like that."

Al shot a glance at Verbena, the question clear in his eyes. He didn't wait for her to respond as he asked, "You remember that from when you were four?"

"I was three," Perry answered without guile.

The psychiatrist deftly entered the conversation. "Perry, do you know what your IQ is?"

The question seemed to make the Visitor uncomfortable. She repeated the question, noting his discomfort at being questioned about his mental abilities. She also noticed that he didn't meet her eyes when he answered.

"196," was the almost whispered reply.

Something else occurred to Verbena. "You must have a very good memory if you can recall something that happened when you were just three years old."

Al stiffened a bit as he followed her reasoning, then wondered why he wasn't surprised when Perry nodded. He hesitated a second then asked the question on the tip of his tongue.

"You remember things like…looking at pictures in a book, don't you?" Another tremor ran through the young man's body as he nodded again. Photographic memory...just like Sam.

Wanting to avoid triggering another episode like the one he'd witnessed just a couple of hours ago, Al changed the direction of the questions. "You loved your mother, didn't you?" He hoped to divert Perry from wandering into the emotional minefield that his wordless responses seemed to have turned him toward.

"Yes," Perry answered.

Al decided to press a little harder. Avoiding Verbena's eyes, he said, "Perry, I know you were just a little boy when your parents…split up. But, do you remember if your mom and dad ever...argued?" Al could almost feel Verbena's fiery gaze burning into the side of his face as he watched the young man nod again as he wrapped his arms tightly around himself.

"Daddy watches me all the time, now."

"Why?"

"My headaches are getting worse. And he hates school."

Al couldn't help glancing at Verbena, her expression was as uncertain as his thoughts. He said carefully, "I would think that with a son as smart as you..."

"I love my dad," Perry hurriedly interrupted. "There's nothing I wouldn't do to please him. But..."

"...he hates school," Al finished the sentence.

"Well, no. What he really hates is college."

Al's brow furrowed a bit more. Each time Perry spoke, his words only added to the confusion in the Observer's mind. It's like trying to catch a White Rabbit. Al decided to grab the rabbit's tail and hang on for wherever the ride took him. He hoped Verbena had a sedative handy in case the rabbit headed for edge.

"Why does your dad hate college so much?"

Perry's shoulders rose and fell in a quick, tight shrug.

"Does he get mad when you try to talk about it?" Al persisted.

He hoped his quiet tones would make the questions easier for Perry to answer. He was about to pose another question, but was cut off when Perry stood up and began pacing around and around the bed. The Observer heard a warning bell in the back of his mind; it became louder as Perry began to talk. Al could hear in his voice how he was struggling to keep a tight rein on the emotions starting to churn inside him again.

"The last time I tried to talk to him about it, he flew into a rage," Perry said. "He was throwing stuff and screaming at me that no son of his will ever waste his time or money going to college." Perry sat down again on the side of the bed, his posture rigidly erect, his knuckles white as he clutched the edge of the mattress.

Al felt the rabbit increasing speed in its flight from whatever was chasing him. He tightened his grip on the rabbit's tail. "What happened?"

For a moment the Swiss-cheesing effect that Leaping had on a person's memory eased the tight expression on Perry's face. But then a connection was made in his mind, and the tension returned.

"I..I remember him and mama having a really bad fight. Next morning, mama was gone."

Verbena had returned to stand beside Perry. She saw his glance go to her hands tucked inside her lab coat pockets. Without a word she laid a hand gently on his arm, noting the slight hesitation before he covered it with his own. Not once did he meet her eyes. "Did she leave you and your dad?"

"Daddy never told me where she went or why."

"Perry?" Al said the young man's name, then waited for those troubled gray-blue eyes to meet his. "What happened after she...left?"

"Daddy never talked about her, not even once," Perry said through the tears now running down his face. He paused, taking several deep, gulping breaths. He didn't notice that Verbena's hand had slipped down to his wrist, nor did he see the warning glance she aimed at the Observer. He continued.

As the words poured out of Perry like floodwaters through a broken dam, Al felt his dislike of Howard Kirkwood deepen and darken. He chewed on his cigar, refusing to let his mind wander to what he'd like to do to the man who had so severely emotionally and physically damaged his own son. He hated the thought of Aaron controlling Sam's body. But even that paled in comparison to what he thought of Howard Kirkwood.

"A little while after that when I mentioned...college, he screamed so loud that I hid under my bed and c...cried," Perry hiccuped. He looked up at Al. "He got down on the floor and stuck his head under my bed, and kept screaming at me." He gulped in air, his body shaking, unaware of his finger-numbing grip on Verbena's hand. "I cried the whole time. I promised I'd never leave him.. He finally fell asleep, still half under the bed. I fell asleep under there, too."

"How old were you when that happened?" Al asked carefully. When Perry finally answered, he wished he hadn't asked.

"I didn't know it would make him mad," Perry whispered, his voice aching.

"How old were you, Perry?" Al repeated gently.

Large tears steadily welled up and spilled down his cheeks. "F...four."

Rarely did Al Calavicci act publicly when his very Italian emotions were stirred up, and never in the Waiting Room. But now an emotion he couldn't identify ...perhaps didn't want to identify... surged through him and he obeyed it without thought or hesitation. Tossing aside his cigar, the Observer sat down on the bed, took Perry in his arms and hugged him fiercely. He didn't even try to deny the sense of almost paternal protectiveness flooding through him as he felt the boy's arms encircle his body, clinging to him as if for dear life.

"It's okay," he murmured, rocking gently as he listened to the boy's wrenching sobs. "It's okay. You're safe. Everything's going to be all right." Perry's next words came the closest to shredding the tenuous grip the Observer had on his own emotions.

"Mama's gone. Daddy's all I got," he wept against the Observer's shoulder.

It was the most powerful outpouring of emotions that Verbena had ever seen displayed in the Waiting Room. And the most powerful display by the Observer ever. Wisely she held her tongue, deciding for the moment to let Al deal with Perry...and whatever memories the troubled young man was triggering for him. Watching the Observer comforting Perry, every word he said, even his touch as he rubbed the boy's back soothingly served only to reinforce something she had privately always believed about him. You may not have kids, Al she thought, but you ARE a father.

Even Ziggy remained silent, deciding that the information she had to relate could wait until the admiral and Dr. Beeks departed the Waiting Room. Then she 'felt' something. Immediately she scanned every possible location for the source of that 'feeling'. When she identified the 'something', Ziggy instantly alerted Gooshie, who verified it. She sent a silent alert to the communicator on Al's left wrist.

Without loosening his embrace, Al managed to press the response button. "Yeah, Ziggy?"

"You are needed in the Control Room," Ziggy said. "Now."

When the hybrid computer didn't elaborate, Al glanced up at Verbena. She nodded and moved closer.

"Perry?" Al said quietly, watching as the psychiatrist took Perry by the arms and gently drew him back. He took hold of the young man's shoulders to help steady him as he sat up. "You okay?"

Wiping at the wetness on his face, Perry nodded. His eyes fell on the large wet stain on the shoulder of Al's shirt. "I'm sorry." He looked down at his hands in his lap, unable to meet the Observer's eyes.

I'm sorry...He sounds so much like Sam...the Observer thought as he stood up. He wondered how many times Perry, like Sam, had said those two little words, hoping they would appease the person to whom they were spoken.

"No problem," Al said with a little smile. "We all have to...let it out sometime."

"But real men don't cry," Perry whispered. "Only girls and babies and... sissies cry."

A second signal came through the communicator; Al acknowledged it. He squeezed Perry's shoulders gently and waited for him to look up.

"Yes, they do, Perry," Al said, his voice strong and clear in its quietness, his dark eyes unwavering. "Believe me...son, a real man isn't ashamed or afraid to cry."

A third signal blinked on the communicator at that moment, and Al turned and left the Waiting Room.

--------------------

In the Control Room

--------------------

"What's wrong, Gooshie?" Al demanded as he entered the Control Room.

"Doctor Beckett's brainwave activity is escalating at an alarming rate," the head programmer responded. "If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say he's about to have a seizure."

Al brushed away the mental fatigue that was always one of the byproducts of high emotions, and held out his hand. Grasping the handlink slapped against his palm, he headed up the ramp to the Imaging Chamber. A thought occurred to him, but he didn't slow his pace.

"What about the mind sync, Gooshie?"

"Done. Only Doctor Beckett will see you," Gooshie responded.

"Good." The Observer then took his place in the Imaging Chamber and waited for the swirl of past years to surround him.

Yet even as Perry was gradually coming out of the dark he had lived in most of his life, Sam was learning of the terrors it held.


	20. Chapter 20

The Face In The Mirror 

**By C. Eleiece Krawiec**

**Chapter 19**

He remembered being in the boys' restroom, talking to Al. He remembered the mental exercise that had held Aaron at bay. And, Sam remembered the mistake which had allowed the arrogant alternate personality to breach his defenses and seize control: the realization dawning in his mind when he had put all the bits together about Perry's mother. He hadn't even been able to gasp a warning to Al, so quickly did Aaron seize control of his body. Now, trapped again in the seamless blackness, he was being smothered as the most aggressive alternate personality of an abused young man confronted him.

_Hey Sam. How's tricks?_

Realizing that he was literally in a "meeting of minds", something he would have been fascinated by, even relished in any other situation, the Nobel prize winning time traveler knew who had the upper hand at the moment. And it wasn't him. Feeling uneasiness pressing in on him, Sam called upon the Beckett stubbornness, and pushed back with his silence.

Aaron's growing anger filled the blackness. In all the years since his first appearance, he had only been pushed out occasionally, and then only by "Evalynn". Never had any of the other personalities exhibited the mental strength and toughness of the one sharing the blackness with him now. This one was going to pay for pushing him around.

_Let's get the names out of the way. I'm Aaron._

"Who are you?" Sam asked.

_Who am I? I thought a smart man like you would have figured that out by now. I'm Perry." Aaron sensed his adversary's troubledness at his answer and was pleased. "Yeah, you heard right, I'm Perry Kirkwood. Only he doesn't know it, and you're not going to tell._

"Yes, I am," Sam said stubbornly.

_You're not in a position to tell anybody anything._

"Someone already knows," Sam said.

_You mean his old man? Old Howard?_ Aaron's cruel laughter echoed, ricocheting in the blackness. _He ain't gonna do nuthin'," he gloated. "He's too dammed scared of me._

"But I'm not," Sam responded. "I know who… and what you are, and I will stop you." Feeling Aaron's anger deepen, Sam shaded his innermost thoughts, resolutely ignoring the uneasiness beginning to nibble at the edges of his concentration.

Aaron pushed his 'face' close to that of his captive. _Let me put this in terms you can understand ... Doctor Beckett._ He noted Sam's startled reaction, and drew power from it. _You're tied directly into Perry's mind, and that's my territory. You barged into my territory, now you play by my rules._

Sam was finding it harder to guard his thoughts. He was sure that if he were in control of his body that he would be in a cold sweat. He fought back. "Bullies don't have rules."

Aaron took a 'breath', catching a faint whiff of fear. He pressed closer, crowding his adversary. _Oh, I know what you're thinking. Why should a smart man like you do what I say? That's easy. I'm the strong part of Perry. And when you came in...however you got here..., you opened the door and invited me in. And I go where and do whatever I want. So, Doctor Beckett, just like Perry, you WILL go where I want...when I want, and do what I want you do._

Sam continued to fight back. "No I won't," he said, striving to remain calm. "Because you're just an aberration of Perry's normal personality. You only exist as a protective barrier between him and his father." He tried to 'maneuver", to get a few inches of space between him and Aaron.

Aaron crowded closer, feeding off the increasing smell of fear emanating from his most resistant prey_. Call me what you want, Sam. It doesn't matter, 'cause I'm getting ready to take over._

"You...can't," Sam said, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

_Oh, but I can,_Aaron spat back. _I'm tired of being cooped up in here. There's a whole world out there and why should a smart, quick-thinking guy like me have to spend my whole existence in the shadows? I know how to go out and live and enjoy life. I'm not afraid of it...like old Howard's made Perry afraid of it. I don't care what others think of me. I'm the important one here._

"What about Perry?"

_What about him?_

"You...need him...," Sam began.

_For what? All I have to do is "knock, knock". Then he's in the shadows, and I can live life the way it's supposed to be. But now, with your body and your smarts too... Well, the world just doesn't have any idea how much they'll be getting out of Aaron Kirkwood. He's gonna be smarter and move so much faster than anybody ever dreamed of._

Reaching down deeper inside than he ever realized existed, Sam drew on the core of strength and convictions that had been instilled in him since his birth. "I won't let you," he said firmly.

_Oh? _Aaron said, his tone saying he didn't believe a word Sam said. _How you gonna stop me?_

"I'll...think of something."

_Whatever it is, I'll know it the instant you do,_ Aaron sneered.

"What!" Sam couldn't hide his surprise.

_I know what you're thinking, Sam...almost as soon as you do._ Feeling the anger and the rage building, the same anger and rage that had protected Perry from numerous episodes of his father's darkest emotions, Aaron now used them to bring his quarry closer to surrender.

"You...can't," Sam whispered, feeling the first sticky tentacles of fear slithering over 'him'. He fought panic as his throat tightened. _Oh God!...Al! ...Where are you? Help me! _Sam pleaded in the small corner of his thoughts that he continued to defend from the ruthless personality intent on his destruction.

The arrogant, angry personality continued to bully the time traveler. _Oh, but I do, Sam. See, when you haven't been looking...hell, even when you are...I've been poking around your gray cells. Very impressive. No wonder you accomplished what you did, and at such a young age._

"No!" Sam whispered, not wanting to believe what Aaron was saying.

_News flash, Sam. I know things about you that you've forgotten. Why, just a little while ago, I found a little something of yours that you had put off in a corner of your mind years ago. How did I find it?_

_Well, it's like this. Existing in the shadows all these years, I've learned to find my way around. Anyway, last night while you were sleeping, I went exploring. Wandering up and down those dim corridors of forgotten thoughts and poking into those dark, dusty corners in your mind that you haven't thought about in years. Found a lot of stuff. You know... the stuff you don't need or use any more. Like believing in the tooth fairy. And then guess what I found? A little thing you stuffed way, way back into a tiny little dark corner. Guess you didn't want to see it any more, huh?_ Aaron continued to draw out the "little something"._ Remember your friend, Eddie from fourth grade?_

Sam suddenly felt ice-cold, choking as fear flooded over him, knowing instantly what Aaron had found. "Oh no," he pleaded. "Please, no..."

_You know, it really wasn't a nice thing what he did to you. Locking you in that closet. Especially after him and his brother collected all those spiders and turned 'em loose in there. See, you do remember! So what if Eddie and his big brother took your clothes off before putting you in the closet? Can't you feel all those tiny legs crawling up your arms...your legs...in your ears and hair? What's the matter Sam?_

Intelligence almost beyond measure was useless against a carefully forgotten terrifying memory now freed of the dark corner in which it had been buried nearly forty years past. Reason and logic couldn't pierce the terror soaking into Sam as the memory of the most horrifying fifteen minutes of his childhood grabbed him and dragged him back...back...

Back...to a summer evening when he was eight years old and excited about spending the night with his new friend, Eddie Pruitt, and only Eddie's older brother, Curtis to keep an eye on them while their folks went a movie. That is until Eddie suggested they go up in the attic... Sam 'tasted' the panic and tried to swallow...but couldn't as he watched an uncertain but game little boy slowly follow his friend up into a dim, musty smelling attic.

None of the achievements... the degrees...the doctorates...the Nobel Prize ...could stop the man Samuel Beckett from stepping back into that little boy. They couldn't help him as he struggled to breathe as he was forced to look backward. To watch Eddie and Curtis wrestle him down and strip off every stitch he had on...and then drag him to the tiny closet in a cramped, dark corner of that attic. The light from the flashlight Curtis held darting about the tiny enclosed space, it's yellowish beam sliding over the walls covered with what looked like hundreds of spiders… and...

Nothing could stop the screams that had erupted out of little Sam Beckett as two sets of hands landed hard against his bare back, shoving him into the tiny closet and then slamming the door shut.

"EDDIE..LET ME OUT! GET THEM OFF ME! GET THEM OFF ME! PLEASE LET ME OUT! SOMEBODY HELP ME...PLEASE!"

Forty years evaporated as Samuel Beckett, adult time traveler felt again the numbness in his eight-year old hands and feet from beating and kicking at the locked door. Felt the raw hoarseness of his throat from ceaseless screams for release from the bondage of a cruel prank...

"NOOO!" Sam screamed as he again 'felt' the spiders on his skin... crawling delicately up his arms...his legs...the back of his neck... dropping down on his head...in his hair...in his ears...on his face...

Aaron began to laugh. Softly at first, then louder and more harshly, watching the would-be usurper slapping at himself, frantically trying to escape the horror of the resurrected memory. The terrified screams were the music of imminent surrender in his ears.

_"Who woulda thought,_ he mocked, _that a man with your intelligence, all those degrees and stuff...would be afraid of spiders?_

He watched for a moment longer then, paused...listening. Someone was approaching. Recognizing the 'someone', the arrogant personality suddenly retreated, his harsh, mocking laughter echoing as he traded places in the darkness with a terror-besieged time traveler.


	21. Chapter 21

The Face In The Mirror 

**By C. Eleiece Krawiec**

**Chapter 20**

Having a day start with a confrontation with "Aaron", usually meant that Howard was in for, as Grandma Green used to say, "a day that even the devil wouldn't touch". And it had been just that.

First Aaron. Then missing half a day's work to drive over to meet with the director of the Colver State Hospital. And finally, when he got back to the factory a little after lunch, finding out that the air conditioning still wasn't repaired. After enduring upwards of eighty-five degree, airless heat for nearly three hours, Howard couldn't stand any more, and clocked out. "Two hours and forty-seven minutes," he'd muttered bitterly when he looked at his time card after punching out. "Nearly a whole day's pay shot to hell." By the time he pulled into his driveway twelve minutes after he left the factory, Howard was ready to lock the front door and forget the world outside existed. But the terrified screams that he heard coming from the direction of Perry's bedroom squashed that hope.

Slamming the truck into park, the big man bailed out at a dead run and tore into the house, up the stairs and down the hall. He didn't hesitate at the door behind which the screams were coming from. Throwing the door open he was slammed with a full-throated scream of terror, and ran across the room to its source.

In spite of the screams assaulting his ears, for a moment Howard just stood, staring. Staring down at his nearly grown son crammed into a corner of the closet, his eyes squeezed shut and kicking and flailing his arms as if possessed...and felt another piece of his heart break away. But that weary, familiar ache was slapped aside as the anger that had simmered all day came to a head.

------------

The mind link connected and Al watched Perry Kirkwood's small bedroom come into focus. His heart leapt into his throat when he heard hysterical screaming behind him. Spinning around he saw Howard Kirkwood just standing, staring into the open closet. Running to the open door, he looked inside and felt his stomach tighten.

_Jesus, Mary and Joseph! _Al thought. _What's happening to him?_ Then he glanced at the motionless man beside him and felt his blood begin to boil.

"Do something!" he shouted angrily in Howard Kirkwood's face, even though he knew it was a useless action. "How can you just stand there, you heartless bastard! Help him!" But Howard never moved, never blinked. Spitting curses in Italian as fast as they crossed his mind, the Observer shot a malevolent look at Perry's father, then moved in front of him, facing the closet.

For a couple of seconds Al watched his best friend crammed into a corner of the closet, his face wet with what he was sure was a cold sweat, his eyes squeezed shut. Watched him kicking and screaming hysterically as he batted and slapped at the edges of the clothes and plastic dry cleaning bags when they brushed against him.

"GET 'EM OFF!" Sam screamed. "GET 'EM OFF!" He continued slapping frantically at his head, running his hands wildly through his hair.

"Sam!" Al shouted to make himself heard. "SAM!"

Through the terror rampaging in his mind, Sam heard a sound... a familiar sound...and grabbed at it. "Al!" he screamed. "Get 'em off me!"

"There's nothing on you," Al had to almost shout to be heard.

"I can feel 'em..." Sam babbled.

Al knew he had to get Sam to open his eyes. "There's nothing on you, Sam," he said as loudly and calmly as possible. "Open your eyes, and see for yourself." It grabbed at his heart to see his friend slapping and swiping at his own face.

"I can't. They'll get in my eyes!"

Al said firmly, "You trust me, don't you, Sam?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then believe me," Al enunciated each word clearly and calmly. "There- is-nothing-on-you-anywhere."

"But I feel..."

Squatting down so he was at eye level with Sam, Al continued to speak in firm, calm tones. "What you're feeling are plastic bags and clothes brushing against you." He paused. Then, with the same gentle firmness he had addressed to Perry, said, "Trust me, Sam. Open your eyes."

In spite of what his mind was telling him he would see, Sam tightened his hold on the familiar sound of Al's voice, trusted it...and opened his eyes. For several seconds more he remained backed into the corner, his eyes fixed on the hologram, and gulping in huge breaths. Finally he whispered, "Are they...gone?"

"Look for yourself," Al maintained a tone of unhurried authority, his eyes never leaving Sam.

"I'm...afraid," Sam whispered.

"Face your fear or you'll never get past it," Al said firmly. "Look at yourself."

A sense of relief replaced the anxiety as he watched Sam's eyes glance first at his arms, then down at his body. Standing up, the Observer watched the Nobel Prize winning physicist jump nervously when a corner of a plastic bag brushed against his forehead, bat it away, and then crawl through his holographic image and out of the closet. Sam was still on his hands and knees when he bumped into Howard, nearly knocking him down.

"I heard you screaming from the driveway," Howard said, his voice a heavy mix of anger faintly stained with concern as he bent down and grabbed his son and hauled him to his feet. "And what the hell do you mean coming here at three in the afternoon? The last class doesn't get out till three forty-five." He tightened his grip and shook his son once, hard. "Damn it, Aaron, answer me!"

All Al could do was stare, his anger momentarily blind-sided by the statement. But he noticed it had a different effect on Sam.

"I'm not Aaron," Sam said a bit sharply as he yanked free of Howard's hard grip on his upper arms. Though still a bit shaky from his ordeal, he faced Perry's father, lifting his chin, hazel-green eyes meeting gray.

Howard took an involuntary step back when his son pulled free of his grip. He hesitated before saying, "Perry?"

"Yes, dad," Sam said carefully. "It's me." He lifted his chin. "Why did you call me Aaron, dad?"

Howard was unsettled by his son's sudden change in attitude. Something in his eyes was different, certainly in the way he stood, and in the way he moved as he stepped past him to close the closet door. He jumped a little when the question was repeated as 'Perry' turned to face him again, his intent expression unwavering. Not defiantly. More like a young man who has suddenly discovered his own inherent male strength.

"Why did you call me Aaron, dad?" Sam repeated the question, keeping his eyes level with Howard's.

"I...I was thinking about him," Howard said. "He came by today."

"When?" Sam challenged.

Though caught off guard for a few moments, Howard felt his anger begin to rise again. "This morning," he snapped. "While I was waiting for you in the truck."

Sam started to verbally jump all over his host's father, but the sight of Al, standing behind the man and shaking his head and pointing at the handlink made him bite his tongue.

"Don't do it, Sam," Al warned. "Ziggy says if you let your anger get the better of you right now, there's an eighty-two percent probability that Aaron's gonna get loose again."

"And?" Sam demanded, not caring about the confused look on Howard's face at the odd question.

"And he'll take over your body and kill Howard in the next ten minutes. And...," Al swallowed then finished. "...you'll be killed seven minutes later."

Sam forgot about Howard. "What?"

He nodded, quickly filling in the rest of the new history. "When you stood up to Howard a minute ago, you changed history," he said, punching in codes almost as fast as Ziggy was providing information.

"In this new history," Al said, "one of the neighbors heard yelling and screaming in the house on the afternoon of August 14, 1963..today..and called the police. By the time the cops got here five minutes later, they found Perry in his bedroom still beating his father's lifeless body with..." Al glanced around, then pointed, "...that baseball bat."

He paused. "According to the officers' report, when they ordered Perry to drop the bat, he screamed something and came at them." He met Sam's shocked gaze. "It took six shots to stop him." He hesitated. "According to the autopsy, they dug six bullets out of his body, but it was the first shot… in the middle of his forehead... that killed Perry Kirkwood."

Howard hadn't shifted his gaze from his son for a second as he listened to the odd, one-sided conversation. It wasn't the first one he ever witnessed or heard his son carry on. But the way the boy's expressions were changing ...absolutely focused attention...surprise ...shock... disbelief...and finally, a quiet acceptance...troubled him even more. So much so that his own anger was momentarily forgotten.

"Son?" Howard said, putting a hand on one of Perry's shoulders. He didn't flinch when the boy jerked nervously. "What is it?" he asked, moving his hand up to run it slowly over his son's head. "Are you all right? Did you hit your head on something when you...fell in the closet?"

Sam couldn't remember ever feeling as mentally and physically exhausted as he did at the moment. He shivered as the slight puff of air caused when Howard raised his arm to run his fingers over his head, touched his sweat dampened shirt. The last question gave him something of an out, and he nodded.

"I guess so," he said carefully. "Must've...blacked out." Sam flitted a glance at the Observer who was keeping a sharper watch on the handlink than the cigar now almost burned down to his fingers. But he knew instantly that his next words were wrong when Al stiffened. "Guess when I hit my head it triggered a...sort of nightmare." Howard reacted almost identically.

"A nightmare?"

"Careful, Sam," Al warned.

"Maybe...nightmare was the wrong word," Sam corrected himself hurriedly. "All I remember is..." In a single glance he saw that man and hologram's attention was riveted on him. "...feeling like..." he gulped then named his fear. "...like spiders were crawling on me."

Howard felt the tightness across his shoulders ease and he managed a bit of a smile. "And to think, when you were little, I was always finding bugs in your pockets."

"Guess I forgot about that," Sam conceded with a forced smile.

After another moment of awkward silence, Howard left the room. "I'm gonna get a shower," he said pausing at the door to look back. "Change your shirt and start supper." He barely waited long enough to see his 'son' nod.

Stripping off the damp shirt, Sam grabbed a tee shirt from a drawer and pulled it on as he headed for the kitchen. He wasn't surprised to find the Observer there ahead of him.

For a couple of minutes Al didn't say anything. Pulling a fresh cigar from an inside pocket of his jacket, he lit it, watching his friend through the fragrant haze of smoke that rose as the tip of the Chivello yielded to the lighter's flame. Snapping the lighter shut, he took a long pull from the cigar, exhaled smoothly, then said two words. "What happened?"

Sam hesitated as he reached to open the refrigerator. "You mean..."

"Yeah."

He turned to face Al. "A memory happened," Sam said, pushing his hands into his back pockets so Al wouldn't see the nervous tremor in them. "A very old, terrifying childhood memory." He saw the unspoken question in the Observer's eyes and answered it. "Aaron...found it and was..."

Al spared his friend having to go into the details. "I get the picture." But he needed to know more. "What was the memory?" The light film of sweat that sprang up on the time traveler's brow was instantly noted, and he went to stand in front of his friend.

"Believe me, Sam," he said, looking up into his friend's eyes. "I know what flashbacks and night terrors are like. It took a lot of years after 'Nam for me to work through mine. It was damned near as bad as living through the real thing." He paused, searching the hazel-green eyes pinned intently on him. "Trust me. Talking about it can help."

Sam swallowed, then swallowed again. "I... I never told anyone," he whispered. "Not mom or dad or even Tom." He took a deep breath and exhaled, then met Al's dark gaze.

Slowly, almost ashamedly, word by word, he exposed the long hidden memory and his fear to the light of day.

Al didn't interrupt, just listened and understood. He saw how a deliberately cruel childish prank had forged and refined his friend's innate ability to understand and feel for the underdog. When Sam finally finished, they stood in silence.

Needing something to occupy his mind and hands, Sam opened the refrigerator and took out a package of ground meat, a head of lettuce, a tomato and some cucumbers. Bumping the door shut with his elbow, he set the items on the table. Finding a bowl he mixed the meat with salt and pepper, then shaped several hamburger patties. Putting them in a skillet over a low heat, he began making two small salads.

Finally, Sam said the first thing that came to mind to break the silence still hanging in the air. "You know, I haven't had much time to think about it since I leaped in yesterday, but has Ziggy come up with any idea as to what I'm here to do? Besides trying to hold onto my sanity?"

Al took the cigar out of his mouth and fixed Sam with a certain look. But before he spoke, he entered a long string of codes on the handlink and waited. Finally, he spoke.

"Ziggy says that when you stood up to Howard a few minutes ago, you improved the probability from sixty-eight percent to an eighty-nine point three nine percent probability that you're here to get Perry away from his father so he can get the help that he needs." Al glanced at Sam, glad to see a more positive expression on his face. He continued.

"She says if you do that, there's a seventy-one percent probability that he'll go on to lead a relatively normal life...considering what his life has been like up to this point."

Sam felt his anger begin to stir at the reason for his presence in Perry Kirkwood's life. Quickly he doused it with a mental exercise of pure quantum mathematical logic, and redirected his thoughts. Checking the pantry cupboard again, he found a package of Kraft macaroni and cheese and began preparing it. Next he set the table. As he took plates and glasses from a cupboard, something occurred to him. He glanced at Al. "What happened to Perry in the original history?"

"I was wondering when you were going to get to that," Al said, taking the cigar out of his mouth. Sam noticed he didn't bother to look at the handlink.

"From what Ziggy's been able to come up with," Al began, "Perry disappeared on August 16, 1963 and was never seen or heard from again."

Sam paused as he turned the hamburgers. "Are you sure? From what I've been through so far, I'm surprised his father lets him go to school alone. God knows how he'll react when Perry leaves for college."

Al kept his face straight. He wasn't sure Sam was ready to hear about Howard's views on that subject.

"He didn't have anything to say about it," Al replied. He watched Sam's face as he said, "Howard Kirkwood died that same night."

Sam hated responses like that. It always meant that whatever he was here to do was about to get a little tougher to accomplish. "What happened?"

"The house burned down sometime near midnight on the 16th," Al said. "But according to the autopsy report, the fire didn't kill him."

"How did he die?"

Al exhaled a long stream of smoke before answering. "The back of his skull was crushed by a single blow from a baseball bat."

The kitchen was quiet for a few minutes as Sam finished turning the hamburgers. He put ice in two glasses and filled them with water and set them on the table. A couple of times he made eye contact with the Observer but said nothing. Finally, as he was removing the burgers from the skillet he spoke.

"Was the killer ever arrested?"

"Everybody in town thought Perry did it," Al said quietly. "But he disappeared, and even after a state-wide and nationwide manhunt he was never found. It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth." He went to stand beside his friend, noting the concentration on his face. "Sam? You okay?"

Sam glanced up from his reverie. "Yeah, I'm fine." Something occurred to him and he said, "You better have Gooshie adjust our mind sync."

"Already done," Al responded. He was more than a bit leery of broaching the subject, not wanting to be the trigger for another outbreak by Aaron. "Why? You getting a headache?"

"No."

Al pulled the handlink from his pocket. "Well, I'm gonna go back..."

"No," Sam said a bit too quickly. "Stay. Please?"

Al nodded. "No problem," he said, noting how quickly the subtle shading of fear in his friend's eyes vanished with his answer.

Supper was a strained, almost silent occasion. When the meal was finished, Howard left the table and went into the living room to watch television.

Al stayed until after Sam finished in the kitchen then took a shower. Only when his friend was finally in bed, falling quickly into an exhausted sleep, did the Observer silently summon the Imaging Chamber door and return to the future.


	22. Chapter 22

The Face In The Mirror 

**By C. Eleiece Krawiec**

**Chapter 21**

When Al walked out of the Imaging Chamber, into the Control Room he was amazed at how quiet it was. Glancing around he saw only two technicians working at one of the smaller computers that he'd heard Ziggy refer to as one of her 'satellites." Gooshie, at the control panel when the Observer had gone into the Imaging Chamber, was still there.

Al braced his hands against the front of the panel and surveyed the large room. "Where is everybody?"

"Most are at dinner," Gooshie replied as he set the handlink to recharge.

Al's eyebrows arched in surprise. "What time is it? How long was I in there?"

"Seven twenty-one p.m., and three hours, thirty-two minutes, nineteen seconds," Ziggy answered both questions.

"How's Perry?" Al asked.

"The visitor has finished his evening meal and, according to his life function readouts," Ziggy informed him, "will fall asleep in approximately seven point four one minutes."

"You look beat, Admiral," Gooshie ventured. He glanced at the control panel. "Doctor Beckett's sleeping quietly. Why don't you do the same?"

After the adrenaline roller coaster he'd been on for most of the time he had been with Sam, Al had to admit that Gooshie was right. A hot shower and a few hours in the sack... alone...was just what he needed.

Al glanced around the room, at the technicians focused solely on their work, considered the quiet atmosphere of the room.

"I think I'll take you up on that offer, " Al said. He was just beginning to realize just how tired he was as the adrenaline faded from his body.

Gooshie smiled back. "Go get some rest, Admiral. I'll keep watch on Doctor Beckett's brainwave activity. If it changes in any way, I'll call you."

Straightening up Al headed for the door, then paused and looked back. "If Sam so much as sneezes.." he said, pointing a warning finger at him.

"...you'll know before the 'ah-choo' ends," Gooshie assured him.

Twenty minutes and one steam-billowing hot shower and quick shave later, Al toweled off, pulled on peach silk pajama pants, and crawled into bed. Fastening his wrist communicator on again, Al let himself fall backward. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

------------

The sound of his bedroom door being opened drew Sam from sleep. For a moment he lay still, watching through barely open eyes as Howard left his room, pulling the door closed carefully. Glancing at the window he saw the first pale streaks of dawn on the open drapes. He glanced at the clock. Quarter to six.

Quickly Sam got out of bed and put his ear to the door. Not hearing anything, he opened it a crack. Peering down the hall, he watched Howard start downstairs. He didn't question the feeling urging him to follow Perry's father.

Moving carefully, almost holding his breath, Sam crept to the head of the stairs in time to see Howard turn to enter the kitchen. He was about to start down the steps when the telephone in the living room rang, and he jerked back out of sight, pressing flat against the wall. As soon as he heard Howard's deep voice say, "Hello?", Sam crept down the stairs as far as he could without being seen.

----------

"It's getting worse." Howard paused, listening, unaware that he was nodding in agreement with what the caller was saying. "I want to do this as quietly as possible. How about early Saturday morning?" He listened again. "Last week he mentioned some school dance he wanted to go to tomorrow night. I was figuring if I let him go, maybe it'll keep him...quiet."

He listened again, then nodded. "Okay." Again he listened. "Yeah, I got the drops." A moment of darkness entered his eyes. "I know how to use 'em," he said in low, angry tones. Another moment of listening. "Okay. I'll have him there Saturday morning before dawn. You'll have the papers ready for me to sign?" He listened again, then nodded. "All right."

Hanging up the phone, Howard stood for a moment, looking down at his hand still resting on the receiver. On his way back to the kitchen he paused and looked up the empty staircase, his expression one of sad but resolute acceptance. After a moment he continued into the kitchen.

---------

Sam paced around the small bedroom, going over and over every word of Howard's conversation.

_Drops?...Chloroform?...Maybe it's something to put in a drink or in food. ...Something that can't be tasted..._

Realizing that he needed to keep his behavior as normal as possible, Sam started to get dressed. Finding clean socks in a dresser drawer, he sat on the side of the bed and started to put them on.

_Hot chocolate._

Sam hesitated as he pulled on the second sock. "Hot chocolate?" he murmured, his brows knitting slightly. After a moment he shook his head and finished pulling the sock on. Going to the closet he took out a pair of tan slacks. He had them half on when...

_Don't drink the hot chocolate._

Slowly Sam drew the slacks up and fastened them, even as his mind focused on the ... thought. A part of his mind wanted to panic, but his natural scientific inquisitiveness wasn't afraid. Not sensing any hostility, he took a couple of deep, slow breaths. Closing his eyes, Sam calmed his thoughts and became still inside.

_Why shouldn't I drink the hot chocolate?_

_That's how he will give the drops to...Perry._

Sam's brow furrowed slightly again, but his eyes remained closed. _Who are you?_

_Philip._

Sam's thoughts shifted into overdrive _Another personality! _Still not sensing any hostility, he decided to take a chance.

_But only "Evalynn" and Aaron are...with Perry._ It was almost as if "Philip" had anticipated the question.

_How many personalities has Perry had?_

_"Evalynn" said there were seven._ Sam hesitated then counted them off. _"Evalynn", Timmy, Annabelle, Marian, Henry, and Aaron._

_That's only six._

_Why didn't she mention you? _

_She's been hiding me from Aaron._

_Why?_

Sam sensed a hesitation in the newly discovered personality, a hesitation he recognized. 'Philip' was deciding if he could be trusted. When the personality finally spoke, the answer startled him nearly speechless.

_Because I've been hiding the little ones..._

Recovering quickly Sam said, _But I thought...I was told the little ones had been...eliminated._

_The path through the whirlwind is sometimes the safest way to shelter,_ Philip replied.

_I don't understand._

_There isn't time to explain right now, _Philip responded. _But, like Aaron, I thought it wise to find out who you were._ He paused. _You are a good and strong man, Doctor Beckett._ The personality paused; Sam sensed that the other seemed to be listening.

_I have to go Philip said quietly. But I will be back...to help you._

_How will I know..._

_My knowing is more important than your knowing. Trust me, Sam._

Before Sam could respond in any way, a sharp knock on the bedroom door jerked him back to the moment. He glanced down at himself, momentarily confused, then looked at the door. Seeing the doorknob begin to turn spurred him into action. Grabbing a short-sleeved shirt from the closet, he yanked it on just as the door swung open.

"Yeah, dad?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Howard said, his tone striving for patience. "I've been calling you for five minutes. Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Sam said, fumbling with the shirt buttons. "Just drifting in the ozone."

"What?"

"Uh… daydreaming," Sam said, hastily stuffing the tail of the shirt into the waistband of his trousers.

Howard frowned. "Pull that shirt out and do it right," he said sharply. He watched his son obey as Sam unfastened the catch of his trousers and tucked the shirt tail in smoothly. "That's better. Get your belt on and get downstairs and eat something. I gotta go into work early today seeing as how..." he didn't finish the sentence. "I'll drop you at school on my way."

Sam glanced at the clock. Six thirty. The sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening behind him just as Howard spoke was the best sound he'd heard so far this morning.

As much as his body had wanted to sleep longer, years of habit had wakened the Observer at four-thirty a.m. sharp. A quick cold shower got rid of any lingering cobwebs of sleep, and he'd dressed quickly. Breakfast was two mugs of the nearly lethal black coffee that was always brewing in the Project cafeteria and a half of a toasted onion bagel with cream cheese. Now, seeing what had the earmarks of another possible confrontation between Sam and Perry's father, made Al glad that the coffee had been twice as strong as usual.

"Go along with him, Sam," Al said quietly, casting a narrow sideways look at Howard. "It'll give us time to talk."

_Who is he?_

Keeping his eyes on Howard and his hearing tuned to Al's voice, Sam knew instantly who it was. But he hesitated before responding.

_That's Al._

_Can he be trusted?_

_Yes!_ Sam put as much emphasis as he could on the thought.

"Sam?" Al said, shifting his narrowed gaze to his friend's face.

"Perry?" Howard put a hand on his son's shoulder. "You all right?"

Sam shook his head a bit, then offered a smile to the man and hologram watching him like two hawks eyeing a mouse. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just trying to catch the tail of the dream I was having when I woke up." Stepping past Howard, Sam hurried downstairs.

Over a bowl of Wheaties and a glass of orange juice, Sam kept an eye on Howard, who stood by the open back door, drinking coffee and smoking three cigarettes in quick succession. He also watched the Observer, who prowled the area between him and Howard, keeping a sharp watch on the big man.

Finishing his breakfast, Sam went back upstairs to brush his teeth. Al was waiting for him.

"What's going on, Sam?" Al demanded even though Sam already had a mouthful of toothpaste foam. "You looked like..."

"Not here, Al," Sam said, rinsing his mouth and putting the toothbrush away.

"Then where?" the hologram demanded.

"At school." Sam glanced at his watch. "There shouldn't be too many kids there at seven a.m."

Running a comb through his hair, Sam went to grab the books and notebook from the desk where Aaron had tossed them the afternoon before. He turned toward the door then hesitated when Philip 'spoke'.

_The book._

_Where?_

_Under the dresser._

Al hadn't let Sam out of his sight since he'd gone into the Imaging Chamber. Now, watching him hesitate, then turn to look at the dresser, or rather at the floor by the dresser, started his suspicions churning. His suspicions churned even harder as he watched Sam glance at the door, then lay the books on the bed, and go to the dresser and kneel down.

Bending down, the side of his face almost on the floor, Sam peered at the bottom of the well-used dresser with stubby legs on ball and claw feet. Sliding a hand under it, he felt around.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Al demanded, crossing closer to him.

"I'm looking for something."

"Would you care to be a bit more specific?"

When his fingers touched it, Sam carefully peeled away the wide strip of tape that held the object in place. Grasping it carefully, he drew it from its hiding place. "This."

It was a book approximately ten inches high by eight inches wide. It had a smooth surfaced nondescript brown cover. A brown shoelace was tied around it, and from the looks of the bottom corner of the front cover, the book had been frequently handled.

"What's that?" Al demanded.

"A diary," Sam whispered as he quickly tucked the slim book into the inner pocket of his notebook, grabbed the textbooks and hurried out of the room.

Al took no chances, 'riding' in the truck with Howard and Sam to the school. Once there, and as soon as Sam entered the building, he had Gooshie center him on his friend, not at all surprised to find Sam in the boy's bathroom. For once he didn't mind; no one... physically... could sneak up on them.

Perched on the narrow strip of countertop between the two sinks, Sam had the diary open, hidden inside a slighter larger history book. By the time he heard Al 'pop in', he had already read the first four pages, the small, close handwriting having slowed his speed reading a bit.

"Sam..." Al began.

"Let me finish," Sam said, his eyes never hesitating as he rapidly skimmed the closely written words. When he turned the last page a couple of minutes later, he found the envelope. He glanced up at the Observer.

Sam didn't need the urging he saw in Al's eyes, and opened the envelope and pulled out the single folded sheet of soft pink notepaper.

"Who's it from?" Al demanded.

Sam read the return address on the envelope. "His mother."

"Bingo! What does it say? And before you say what I see in your eyes," Al continued, "for the moment you are Perry. So, read it." It took less than a minute for Sam to read the letter.

"So what does it say?" Al demanded. When Sam turned the letter around for him to see, the Observer's fingers flew over the buttons of the handlink. Punching in the last bit of information, Al eyed the diary laying on the counter. "What's in it?"

_Do you think it's wise to tell him what's in the diary?_ Philip 'asked' just then.

Sam closed his eyes a moment and focused inward. _Definitely. I trust Al with my life._

_If you tell him what's in the diary, you're putting Perry's life in his hands, too. Do you trust him that much?_

_Yes._

Al didn't like the way Sam closed his eyes and went suddenly still, almost as if he'd gone into a trance. He felt the edginess beginning when Sam opened his eyes and looked at him.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Al asked suspiciously. "That is if you are Sam."

"It's me, Al," Sam assured him.

"What were you doing just now?" the suspicious look in Al's eyes remained strong.

Picking up the slim brown diary, he turned back to the Observer. Meeting Al's eyes levelly, Sam said, "I was just assuring Philip that it's safe to tell you what's in here."

Al felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "Who's Philip?" he demanded.

"Perry's seventh personality," Sam said simply.

For the next forty-five minutes, any early student walking past the boy's restroom wouldn't have thought much of hearing two different voices coming from within that facility. What would have spooked them was the fact that there was only one person in the bathroom. What would have freaked them out, if they could have heard it, was a third, rather gravelly sounding voice from a man who wasn't really there.

When the school bell sounded at seven fifty-five, warning that the first class of the day was about to begin, Al and Sam stood looking at each for a long moment. Within the quietness of their own thoughts, leaper and Observer each mentally reviewed the unique three-way discussion that had filled three quarters of an hour. Then the still silent Observer summoned the Imaging Chamber door, stepped inside and was gone.

By the time the Imaging Chamber door was closed, Sam was halfway to the principal's office. Stepping inside the already busy office, he went to the desk and made his request.

Small spikes of pain heralding Aaron's intent to emerge had begun throbbing in Sam's temples halfway through his economics class. But he'd drawn on as much of the depth and breadth of his intellect that was available to him and fought back, and the pain had eased.

By lunchtime, Sam was decidedly pale and feeling quite drained. But he ignored it, and went in search of Margie Hennessey. He found her in the quadrangle, eating a sandwich and chatting and laughing with a couple of her girlfriends.

"Hi, Margie," he said, smiling as he walked up to the threesome.

Margie smiled warmly at him. "Hi, Perry."

"Hi, Perry," Cathy, the redhead from physics class said, scooting over and making a place between herself and Margie. An impish twinkle shone in her eyes as she patted the bench. "Sit with us."

Sam felt the blush rise in his face but ignored it, and turned to Margie. "Could I talk to you for a minute? In private?"

Margie smiled again at the tall, shy young man she'd had a crush on since she was a freshman, although none of her friends could understand why. "Sure," she said, getting to her feet and picking up her purse. "I'll catch up with you two later," she said, glancing at her friends, then moved away with Sam.

It was quiet for a minute or so as the couple walked. Finally Margie stopped and turned to 'Perry', putting a hand on his arm. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Numerous things flashed through Sam's mind at her question, but his response was the same one he'd silently rehearsed all morning. "Would you ..be my date for the Junior-Senior Get Acquainted Dance tomorrow night?" he asked almost shyly. "I know it's the last minute but...I'd really like for you to be my date. That is if nobody else has asked you."

Margie felt her heart flutter against her ribs, almost as if it had wings, as she smiled up at him. "That doesn't matter," she said, her eyes shining. "And no one else has asked. I'd love to be your date."

"Great!" Sam breathed softly, smiling. "I'll pick you up about eight o'clock, okay?"

"I'll be ready," she said. Something occurred to her and she asked, "Will you be driving?"

"Well...uh, no, I don't think so. My...dad will probably drive us." He prayed that wouldn't put her off.

"Okay," she said. "Just so I know what to tell Momma and Daddy. You know how parents are," she said laughingly.

_I know how my parents were_ Sam thought, but responded with a nod saying, "I sure do."

Margie glanced at her watch. "I really need to get going. I need to stop by my locker and the library before my next class starts..."

Sam reached out to put a hand on her arm. "Margie, could I ask a favor of you?"

"Sure," she said. "What is it?"

"I'll walk you to your locker," Sam said. "I'll tell you what it is on the way."


	23. Chapter 23

The Face In The Mirror 

**By C. Eleiece Krawiec**

Chapter 22 

Verbena was in her office, reviewing her latest notes on Perry when there was a single sharp knock on her door. Before she could respond, the door opened and Al stuck his head in.

"What are you doing back so quickly?" she asked. Al's response wasn't an answer. It was an order.

"Let's go," the Observer said tersely, and left, leaving the door ajar.

Verbena caught up with him just as the Waiting Room doors slid open in front of him. She started to demand an explanation then got a good look at his expression. She decided that silence and close observation would yield more answers to questions than words. She followed him into the Waiting Room. By the third sentence out of his mouth to the visitor, the psychiatrist knew that Sam's situation had escalated to either immediate or impending danger.

-----------

Perry had wakened from a troubled sleep only minutes before he heard the low 'whoosh' signaling that the doors to the large quiet room were about to open. His gaze focused immediately on the man who had reached out to comfort him in a moment when he had dared to trust as he exposed an especially painful childhood memory. Now, the expression on the man's face made him uneasy. Inside he felt the first prickles of panic.

"Good morning, Perry," Al said quietly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not really," Perry replied.

"Bad dream?"

"Sort of."

"Who's Philip, Perry?" Al asked bluntly. Seeing the young man jump as if he'd been shot told him that he would quickly have an answer.

The Admiral's question as well as his intense, though not unkind, expression opened the floodgates of panic inside Perry. His mouth and throat felt dry as dirt as he croaked, "W-who?"

"What are you doing?" Verbena hissed softly behind Al. She was even more startled when Al shot a look at her that said louder than words ...Be quiet!

"Who's Philip?" Al repeated, using the strength of his voice and the intensity of his gaze to hold Perry's unwavering attention.

"I-I don't know," Perry whispered nervously.

"Then who does?" Al maintained the low forceful tone that had gotten more results for him in his active duty Navy years than any other tactic. It worked again now.

He didn't bat an eye or make a move as he watched Perry's body go limp and fall back on the pillow. After a minute, the figure on the bed stirred and the eyes fluttered open. He locked eyes with "Evalynn".

"Who told you about Philip, Admiral?" she asked, sitting up.

"Philip told my friend, and my friend told me." Al decided that the safest thing was pure honesty, or as close to it as he could get without jeopardizing Sam's life. "Why didn't you tell us about him before?" He didn't like the sting of her answer, recognizing it as one he himself had uttered in the same tone of voice to others on many different occasions.

"I decided that it was a 'need to know' situation, sir," she responded with a certain crispness in her voice. "And in my opinion at that moment, you didn't need to know."

"Well things have changed," he matched her tone for tone. "I need to know, and I need to know now!"

Having dealt with Aaron for as long as she had, however, "Evalynn" wasn't easily intimidated. She maintained a locked gaze with Al. "How have things changed?"

"My friend has effected a small, positive change in Perry's life," Al said, choosing his words carefully. "But that change has caused other changes that may not be so positive. In fact, they may be detrimental to Perry and my friend."

For a moment Observer and visitor studied each other, neither one's expression giving anything away. It was "Evalynn" who spoke first.

"What do you need to know?"

Al's authoritative tone hadn't shifted a whit. "Those not so positive changes I mentioned will affect both Perry and my friend. Information you know about this Philip and other things may be vital in saving both of their lives. I need straight answers. Am I going to get them?"

"Evalynn" repeated herself. "What do you need to know, Admiral?"

"How long has Philip been in existence?"

"As I've told you, I...appeared first. Next was Timmy, then Henry, and then Marian. Philip appeared shortly after she did."

"What aspect of Perry does Philip represent?" Verbena asked, stepping forward.

"Perry's compassion and his intellectual capabilities," "Evalynn" said. "Perry has an IQ of 196. At least that's as high as the tests he's taken can measure."

"How do you know that?" Al asked. He already knew the answer.

"By doing what I was...intended to do," "Evalynn" answered. "As I'm sure you've figured out, I am a mother figure to Perry. Whenever he becomes uncomfortable or frightened I listen and talk to him, as any good mother would." She paused, looking at Al pointedly. "Because I'm a part of Perry's mind, I also hear what is said to him."

"What brings you out?" Verbena asked.

"Exactly what I said, doctor. When Perry feels overwhelmed by certain interactions, especially with authority figures," again she glanced at Al, "I...'talk' with him. Sometimes all he needs is to be reassured and guided through a situation. Other times, like now, he becomes so frightened that he retreats and I come out to get him through the situation with as much dignity as possible."

"What about Philip?" Al asked. "What brings him out?" Her answer took him by surprise.

"This is only the second time since he appeared that Philip has revealed himself," "Evalynn" said quietly.

"Why?"

"Aaron appeared as a result of the abuse that Perry's father had begun to inflict upon him. Much as I abhor Aaron," she said, "at the time he appeared, he was very much needed." She hesitated, then went on. "But then I became concerned about the little ones. They're the sweet, gentle, innocent aspects of Perry," "Evalynn" said carefully. "None of the personalities, myself included, had a chance against Mr. Kirkwood's abusiveness. And certainly not Perry."

"Why not?"

Verbena answered the Observer's question. "Because," she said, "in spite of everything that's been done to him, Perry genuinely loves his father. Really loves him. But he's also afraid of him." She saw the disgust in the Observer's eyes at that and went on.

"Al, Perry's nineteen, almost a man himself, but in his emotional mind, he's still a little boy. A little boy whose mother left when he was small." Verbena noticed the line of Al's jaw tightening. "Left him with his father, a man who..."

"...has more than a few screws loose," the Observer muttered darkly.

"...who loves his son, but in either too possessive or too protective a manner than is good or healthy for either of them."

"He's ashamed of his son," "Evalynn" interjected sadly. She nodded at Verbena's surprised expression.

All of what was being said was information which in the hands of the right professional could probably go a long way in helping Perry. But Al also knew there wasn't time to allow Verbena to get into an in-depth discussion with "Evalynn". Deliberately, he broke their train of thought.

"What aspect of Perry does Aaron represent?" Al demanded.

"Survival." "Evalynn" said, returning her attention to Al. "As I told you when we first talked, Aaron is like an animal. He snaps and snarls and bites, and when necessary, will strike out when he feels threatened. And, like an animal, he can sense and smell fear. But it was what was needed to keep Perry's father from beating him to death on more than one occasion."

"But once he got a taste of freedom," Al followed the line of thought, "he preferred it to cooling his heels in the shadows."

"Evalynn" nodded. "He began coming out at any moment he could force the personality out at that time to retreat." Again she hesitated. "He began forcing Perry out and taking his place at school. The first time Aaron got into a screaming match with Howard, he almost hit him."

Al waited silently when "Evalynn" paused again. "The first time I denied him was when I became aware that he intended to inflict a rather coarse and reprehensible behavior upon one of Perry's classmates..."

The Observer called it what it was. "He was going to rape a girl, wasn't he?"

"Evalynn" met his gaze levelly. "Yes. Anyway, when I refused to retreat, he threatened that if I ever did it again, that he would go after one of the little ones. That's when Philip... approached me."

"Why?"

"He, like the rest of them, had listened to my confrontation with Aaron. He suggested that if Aaron should ever try to harm one of the little ones, that he would shelter him...or her."

"Aaron's as crafty as they come," Al said. "It couldn't have been easy. How did you pull it off?"

"Whenever Aaron gets into a rage, Perry's mind becomes very chaotic. When I denied him the next time, he started raging. During his rage, it was easy for Philip to take in Henry and hide him. When Aaron finally cooled off and saw that Henry was gone, he assumed he'd destroyed him."

"And then you hid Philip," Al said. It seemed like he'd asked the next question at least a dozen times since he'd walked into the Waiting Room a short while ago. "Why?"

Again, it was the Project's chief psychiatrist who answered his question. "Because," she said, "after self-preservation and love, there's nothing more powerful or determined than a mother protecting her young." Her eyes met "Evalynn's" before returning to met the Observer's own dark gaze. "In Perry's case, it was a combination of both."

For the next five minutes the only sound in the Waiting Room was of Al's footsteps as he paced back and forth. Finally, he turned back to Verbena and the visitor.

"Sam and I have a plan," he said quietly looking directly at each of them in turn.. "But it's going to depend a lot on Philip." He looked directly at "Evalynn". "Can he be trusted?"

"Evalynn" searched the Admiral's eyes, searched their depths. She nodded once. "Yes," she said without reservation.

Al considered her answer for another moment. Then he took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay," he said slowly. "I'm about to take, as they say, a tremendous leap of faith."

In the hour that followed the Observer outlined the plan he and Sam had come up with. Halfway through, Gooshie was brought into it as well.


	24. Chapter 24

The Face In The Mirror 

**By C. Eleiece Krawiec**

**Chapter 23**

Sam fought Aaron's attempts to come out all day. By the time he walked out of school at ten minutes to four that afternoon, he was exhausted and the unrelenting throbbing in his temples was almost more than he could stand. He was grateful to Margie and her mother when they again offered him a ride home.

He was more than a little startled when Margie slid onto the backseat beside him. Quickly he glanced at her mother. He could only see her eyes in the rearview mirror, but the expression in those eyes was calm and understanding. He managed a weak smile to the gentle one she offered.

Ten minutes later he got out in front of the Kirkwood house and thanked Margie and her mother again. Watching them drive away, Sam felt the nausea begin and hurried inside. He reached the bathroom just as his stomach coiled and he threw up. When his stomach finally stopped reacting to his movements, Sam flushed the toilet and got up. Turning on the shower, he stripped and stepped under the icy spray. He was still in the shower when Howard got home fifteen minutes later.

Coming into the house, the first thing Howard heard was running water, and frowned. Not sure what to expect, he climbed the stairs and knocked at the bathroom door.

"Perry?" he called loudly to be heard over the running water. "You all right, son?" When he didn't get an answer, Howard opened the door.

Seeing his son through the clear plastic shower curtain, his eyes closed and his face turned up into the stinging shower spray, his lips a pale bluish color, and literally shaking from the icy water pouring over him, ticked a disquieting note in Howard's mind. He took a couple of steps into the bathroom and turned off the water.

The water stopping abruptly snapped Sam back to reality. He jerked, startled when he opened his eyes to find Howard standing beside the tub, watching him.

"D-d-dad," Sam said through teeth chattering like castanets. "I d-didn't hear you come in." He reached out a violently shaking hand to push back the shower curtain. Grabbing a towel he stepped out of the tub.

"Are you all right?" Howard repeated his question. Stepping into the doorway of the smallish bathroom, he waited for an answer.

Drying off quickly, Sam wrapped the damp towel around his waist. Picking up a comb from the counter, he dropped it a couple of times he was shivering so hard. As he combed his hair, Sam decided to go with the truth.

"I-I got one of my headaches at school," he said, the chattering not quite as hard as his body began to warm up. "Margie and her mom gave me a ride home." He laid the comb down and faced Howard. "It was so bad, when I got home I threw up." He paused. "I thought a cold shower might help."

Sam was quietly grateful that Howard seemed to accept the explanation. Getting into a pair of Perry's pajamas he crawled eagerly into bed a few minutes later. He didn't say a word as Howard drew the covers over him.

"You want some soup?" Howard asked, his eyes taking sharp note of every aspect of his son's pale face.

Remembering Philip's warning about the hot chocolate, as well as the mere thought of food of any kind at the moment, made Sam's stomach tighten. He shook his head. "I'm not really hungry. Maybe when I get up." He was grateful for the understanding he saw in Howard's eyes as he nodded, turned the light off and moved to the door.

I'll check on you after a while," Howard said quietly before pulling the door shut.

It was the most peaceful waking moment Sam had known since this leap had begun. "Thanks, dad," he said softly, then watched until the door was closed. Snuggling into the pillow, he let out a sigh of relief. The only thoughts on his mind as he fell asleep were that the throbbing in his temples was gone and he was warm again.

Sam woke up a couple of hours later to the sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening, the light from its interior momentarily flooding the bedroom.

"Sam," Al demanded, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. "What are you doing in bed at seven o'clock?"

"Just waking up," Sam said as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I've been fighting Aaron all day. I came home with a headache that would've dimmed King Kong's lights."

"He's been pushing hard, huh?"

Sam nodded. "It was so bad that when I got back here after school, I threw up, took a shower so cold my lips turned blue and then went to bed, in that order. But at least my head doesn't hurt now." He looked up at Al. "He's getting angrier by the minute."

"How can you tell?"

"I can feel it...in my mind," Sam replied.

Something occurred to Al. "He's listening to us right now, isn't he?"

"No." Sam stood up, yawning as he stretched long and hard. "Since you first told me about ... everything, I've discovered that intense mental focus is the only thing he can't overcome." Sitting back down on the bed he turned his full attention to the Observer.

"Did you talk to Perry?"

"Nope," Al said, taking the cigar from his mouth. "Verbena and I talked to "Evalynn"."

"And?"

Quickly Al gave Sam the information he'd learned from Perry's female alternate personality. He finished up by telling Sam about outlining the plan for Verbena, "Evalynn" and Gooshie.

"Is Gooshie ready?" Sam asked. "For that matter, are you ready for it, Al?" He studied the Observer's face closely. "I'm not sure how this 'now-you-see-him-now-you-don't' trick is going to affect you."

"Don't worry about it," Al told him. "You can thank that 'ego-in-a-can' for being one jump ahead of you. She thought of that, and we did a couple of experimental run-throughs to be sure."

"What happened?"

"The first time, my stomach was flipping," Al admitted. "After that, no problem. What about you?" he asked. "Are you ready?" He waited, not totally convinced by his friend's slow nod. "Did you talk to Margie?"

Sam nodded again. "I'm picking her up at eight o'clock tomorrow evening." The sound of footsteps on the stairs caught their attention.

"You better talk to Howard about the dance," Al said quickly as the footsteps approached the bedroom door. Sam had just enough time to make eye contact with Al and nod before the door opened slowly.

Seeing Perry sitting on the edge of the bed, Howard was relieved to see that he looked relaxed, his color normal again. "You must be feeling better," he said.

"Yes, sir. I feel a lot better," Sam said truthfully.

"You feel like eating something?"

Sam nodded. "I'm hungry now."

"I've kept some soup warm for you," Howard said. "I'll bring you a bowl."

"I can come downstairs..." Sam said, starting to rise.

"No," Howard said not unkindly. "I'll bring you a bowl. You get back in bed."

"Do it, Sam," Al said. "The more of a home field advantage you have in a situation like this, the better."

"Okay," Sam agreed with man and hologram, and got back into bed.

Howard returned a few minutes later with a tray holding a bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup, some saltine crackers, and a glass of milk. Setting the tray on the desk, he sat down on a corner of the bed to wait.

Sitting down at the desk, Sam crumbled a few crackers into the soup, then lifted a spoonful to his lips. It had been a long time since anyone had sat and watched him eat, but now, he could see where he could use it to his advantage.

"Dad?" Sam said, taking another bite of soup and crackers. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?" Howard asked. He kept his attention sharp for any signs that the food wasn't going to stay in his son's stomach; it usually didn't after a headache.

Sam stirred the soup and took another bite before speaking. "There's a dance... the Junior-Senior Get Acquainted Dance ...at school tomorrow evening." He looked up, meeting Howard's eyes. "I know it's the last minute and all," he said hurriedly, "but ... may I go?"

Howard couldn't believe how easily a solution to setting his plan in motion had presented itself. Still, he knew he had to maintain a face of normalcy. "You going alone?" he asked, keeping his expression and tone unreadable. It was good that he couldn't see how the Observer's dark eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Uh ... no," Sam said, stirring the soup idly. It was something to do, activity to hide the nervous tremor that Howard's seemingly cool attitude triggered. "I asked Margie Hennessey this afternoon if she would go with me." He saw Howard's jaw tighten a bit at the mention of the girl, but nothing else.

"Is your blue suit clean?"Al, who had moved to stand beside Sam, caught the flickered glance in his direction. Punching in a code on the handlink, he popped out then almost instantly popped back. "Yep. It's still in the dry cleaner's plastic."

"Yes, sir," Sam responded to Howard.

"What time is it?"

"The dance starts at eight thirty," Sam answered. "But I told Margie I'd pick her up at eight o'clock." He was startled by Howard's response.

"Okay," Howard said evenly. "I'll drive the two of you to the dance, and pick you up afterwards. Make sure her folks know."

"Yes, sir." Sam sat, almost staring at Howard.

"Finish your soup," Howard said, his tone a bit stiffer, "and then get to bed. You miss school tomorrow, and you can forget the dance."

Sam quickly finished the soup, but avoided the glass of milk. Slipping into bed again, he was glad when Howard didn't mention it as he picked up the tray and headed for the door.

"Dad?" Sam watched Perry's father pause in the doorway to look back at him. "Thanks," he said softly.

"Get some sleep," Howard said quietly. Stepping into the hall, he pulled the door shut and went downstairs.

----------

Al watched Sam watching the closed door, both listening to Howard footsteps descending the stairs. Pulling out the handlink, he summoned the Imaging Chamber door.

"I'm gonna go back and make sure that Gooshie and Ziggy have everything ready," he said, stepping into the Imaging Chamber. Glancing at Sam, Al's sharp gaze caught the vague shadow of uncertainty in the depths of those hazel eyes. With a confidence that he wasn't sure was a hundred percent, he said, "Don't worry, kid. It's gonna work." As if to seal that assurance, he gave his friend a grin and a double thumbs-up. He was rewarded when he saw the shadow in Sam's eyes disappear.

"Okay," Sam said. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"I'll be here before the roosters crawl outta bed," Al grinned, and then closed the Imaging Chamber door.

For several minutes Sam lay quietly, watching the area of the room where the Imaging Chamber door had been. Finally, trusting the Observer's promise, he took a deep breath, let it out slowly and closed his eyes. Within a minute he was asleep.

-------------------

In the Imaging Chamber

-------------------

"He's asleep, Admiral," Gooshie's calm voice echoed in the acoustically perfect Imaging Chamber.

"You sure?" Al questioned. "I don't want him rolling over ten seconds after I get there and seeing me."

"You could wait another, say, ten minutes to be sure," the chief programmer suggested.

"Good idea," Al said. "That'll give me time to go change. But make it eight minutes, and check his patterns again."

"Yes, sir," Gooshie replied as his hands moved deftly over the control panel. His blue eyes constantly flicked back to the readouts of Samuel Beckett's brainwave and R.E.M. activity as he made the necessary adjustments. "Ziggy..."

"Seven minutes, thirty-five seconds," the computer purred. "Seven minutes thirty seconds, seven minutes twenty-five seconds."

"Just let us know when there's fifteen seconds left," Gooshie said.

Al raced to his quarters and changed into a black shirt and trousers, even black socks and shoes. He ran back into the control room just as Ziggy announced, "Doctor Beckett's brainwave activity suggests that he is beginning to move into the first stages of R.E.M. sleep."

"Okay," Al said, taking his place in the center of the Imaging Chamber, listening to the massive door seal. "Put me in Sam's bedroom again. And be sure to dim the lights in here before you open the door."

"Will do, sir," Gooshie assured him.

Within seconds Gooshie announced that a lock had been made, and the lights in the Imaging Chamber were dimmed drastically as the door opened automatically. When the small bedroom was in clear focus, Al punched in the code to close the door.

Letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, Al moved to the darkest spot in the room. Because the five-drawer dresser was slightly over-sized the corner between one end of it and Perry's bed was a deep pocket of darkness. Noiselessly Al sat down, blending into the shadows. Even his beloved cigars were banished as he began his long vigil, determined that nothing or no one was going to sneak up on his best friend while he slept.

Hours later Al got to his feet and crept cautiously forward until he could get a glimpse of the clock on the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. Four-thirty. Moving back to the corner, he summoned the Imaging Chamber and stepped inside, watching the door panel slide noiselessly shut.

Exiting the Imaging Chamber, Al was more than a little surprised to see Gooshie still at his post. The reddish stubble on his face and heavy eyes were evidence of a long night's vigil that matched his own. But Al didn't say anything.

It was well known throughout the Project that the chief programmer was a meek, sometimes almost timid soul. But it was equally well known that when situations, like the present one, threatened Sam's safety in any way, getting the chief programmer away from the control panel was tantamount to coming between a grizzly bear and her cub. Now, looking into the heavy, red-rimmed blue eyes, Al saw that look firmly in place.

"How is he?" Gooshie asked, swallowing a yawn.

"Sleeping like a baby," Al said tiredly as he handed over the handlink. "I'm gonna get a shower and change, and then some of that rocket fuel brewing in the cafeteria."

"Why don't you lay down for an hour?" Gooshie suggested. When he saw a familiar look in the Admiral's eyes he said, "Same rule as before. You'll know before the sneeze ends."

Ten minutes later, his skin still damp from the shower, Al stretched out on his bed and was instantly asleep.

-----------

Sam woke up at five thirty the next morning. He lay still for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the gentle first light of dawn filtering through the curtains rippling softly at the window.

Throwing the covers back, he sat up on the side of the bed, then shut off the alarm before it could ring. He sat for another moment, listening to the sounds of the house. He heard the muffled sounds of Howard, already up and downstairs making coffee.

He considered his thoughts as they mixed with the sounds of another day beginning in the house at 261 Liberty Street.

Liberty Street. The name, coupled with everything about this leap struck him as ironic. There isn't any liberty or freedom in this house.

The sight of the Imaging Chamber door opening and Al stepping out at that moment chased the considerations from Sam's mind. Leaper and Observer grinned simultaneously when the sound of a rooster crowing somewhere nearby broke the quiet.

"Told you I'd be here before the roosters were up," Al grinned.

"Just barely," Sam chuckled. The sharp single knock on the door made both of them jump.

Howard opened the door. "You're up early," he said to cover his surprise to find his son already up.

"Just woke up a few minutes ago," Sam replied, standing up. "Guess a good night's sleep was all I needed."

Listening to the sparsely worded conversation, Al wasn't surprised when Howard maintained a somewhat distant attitude. _What man wouldn't?_ he thought. _Especially when he's about to commit his son, his only child to a nuthouse!_ His thoughts darkened. _You're the one that belongs in a rubber room, you nozzle! _When Howard spoke again, Al returned his attention to the moment.

"Since you're up," Howard said, "get dressed and get some breakfast. And, before you leave for school, I want you to call the Hennesseys' to let them know I'll be taking you and...Margie to the dance and picking you up afterwards," Howard spoke in the authoritarian tone Sam had come to know was the norm.

By the time Sam slid onto the truck seat next to Howard for a ride to school a couple of hours later, he had accomplished several things. After a quick bowl of cereal and some juice, he had called Mrs. Hennessey about the arrangements for that evening, then tidied the kitchen. Feeling antsy under Howard's cool gaze, he had gone back upstairs to his room to make his bed. It had also given him and Al a few precious minutes to talk. All too soon, Howard had called up to him, and Sam had picked up his books and went downstairs. It was a long day ahead for both leaper and Observer.

Sam had just opened Perry's locker when jagged spikes of pain stabbed through his temples, the intensity of it nearly buckling his knees. Doggedly he fought back.

_No you don't!_ he thought sharply into the pain. From somewhere in his mind, he summoned a complicated quantum equation and turned his subconscious loose on it. Only when the pain subsided as his mind focused intensely on the equation did Sam allow the tail of the thought he'd aimed at Aaron to cross his lips. "Not yet," he whispered to himself. "Not yet."

But, in spite of maintaining a constant intense mental focus, by noon, Sam could feel Aaron's renewed attempts to come out. When the bell rang at the end of his economics class at eleven forty, Sam remained in his seat, his elbows on his desk as he bowed his head and massaged his temples. It didn't help. The pain was steadily increasing, one small increment at a time, as Aaron relentlessly continued to worm his way to the surface.

-------------------

Back at the Project

-------------------

By twelve thirty, Al's constant prowling around the control room, punctuated by his running in and out of the Imaging Chamber every fifteen minutes or so to check on Sam, had Verbena and several of the Control Room staff ready to hog-tie and inject him with a couple of ccs of Valium. Finally, she decided enough was enough.

The very next time Al came charging down the ramp after being in the Imaging Chamber for less than two minutes, Verbena deliberately stepped in his path. Observer and psychiatrist both nearly went tumbling when he almost ran over her.

"What's the matter with you?" Al demanded as he helped Verbena regain her balance.

"You are the matter!" she declared in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone in the control room, her gaze determined. "You have been in and out of the Imaging Chamber no less than..."

"...fifteen times," Ziggy said silkily.

"...in the past four hours!" she declared. "At the rate the power spikes have been going up and down," Verbena charged ahead, not letting the Observer get a word in edge-wise. "the lights in every house in New Mexico have probably been flickering like candles in a high wind!"

Looking into the Observer's eyes, Verbena saw the steam building up, waiting for release when he finally got the chance to speak.

"Al," she said, lowering her voice slightly. :I've got a good idea of what's running through your mind right now. But what good is it going to do Sam...later...if you wear yourself out now?"

Al had been ready to launch a caustic rebuttal to the crack about the power spikes. But her last comment drained the heat from the rebuttal and left it fizzling between them.

Verbena dropped her voice to a whisper as she stepped closer to him. She hesitated at the cutting look he sent her. "You've got to be sharp for later. And, I know you've only had about an hour's sleep..."

"It's not the first time in my life I've gone without sleep," Al snapped, finally able to get a word in.

"I know," she said. Moving a step closer, Verbena did something very few would have dared. Reaching out, she put a hand on Al's arm, her touch stilling his fidgeting. Dropping her voice to a whisper that only she, the Observer, and Ziggy's hyper-sensitive microphones could hear, she pressed her point.

"You know what is going to happen later," she said softly. "You're going to have to be totally focused. Wearing yourself out now isn't going to help Sam later when he's going to need you to be as razor sharp as possible." She paused, letting her words sink in. "In light of that, don't you think it would be a good idea if you got another two or three hours sleep?"

Al had started to protest when Verbena began, but as each succeeding word crossed her lips, the combat-tested part of him knew she was right. He glanced over at Gooshie.

He knew that the Project's chief programmer had also been bullied out of the control room by Verbena at seven fifteen that morning with similar orders to get a shower and some sleep. Now, looking more rested, and minus the red stubble on his face, he, too was nodding in agreement, even though there wasn't any way he could have heard what had just been said.

Al knew when he was surrounded. "Okay," he conceded. "But just for two hours. You got that, Ziggy?"

"Yes, Admiral. I'll wake you at two thirty-nine exactly."

Giving the handlink to Verbena, Al moved toward the door leading out of the control room. He paused only once to look back at the door to the Imaging Chamber.

------------

It was a battle of two wills in one body. Only for one of the combatants, a part of his fight was a decoy.

Throughout the day Sam expended a lot mental energy, as well as drawing heavily on the Beckett stubbornness to keep Aaron suppressed. Yet, by the end of the school day he felt the exhaustion physically as well as mentally. It showed in his face, too.

While putting his books in his locker for the weekend, Margie had caught him with his face pressed against the cool metal of the locker. It had taken several minutes there, and then the ride home before he had convinced her that he was okay, and wouldn't miss the dance.

Leaning down to look in the open car window at her, he said, "I'll see you at eight," and smiled. He watched the red car drive away and then went into the house.

Waiting for the time to pass until he could start getting ready for the dance, Sam forced himself to keep busy. Before Howard got home, he laid out the blue suit, a clean white shirt and tie, and then made sure Perry's dress shoes were polished. He also fixed supper again though neither he nor Howard ate very much. Finally, after tidying the kitchen while the big man continued to sit at the table, watching him from under hooded lids and drinking a beer, it was time to get ready.

Sam was still in the shower when he heard the Imaging Chamber door open. He could have sworn he felt a weight lift off his shoulders when he heard it. Turning off the water, he stepped out onto the bathmat.

"Where have you been?" he asked, not really surprised to see the Observer dressed in rather dark clothing. It matched his somewhat subdued manner.

Al waved his cigar dismissively. "I...figured I'd better get a couple hours of shuteye before...I fell over." He eyed his friend closely. "Bad day?"

"Almost as bad as yesterday," Sam said quietly as he put on clean underwear and socks. Getting up, he picked up the suit trousers and pulled them on. "It feels like Vesuvius is about to erupt inside my head," he said, fighting to avoid letting his anxiety show in his voice.

Sam and Al had worked together long enough prior to his leaping, and since, that each could read the other's eyes as easily as each man knew his own thoughts. Now, when Al asked, "Talked to anyone else today?", Sam read in those dark eyes exactly who he was asking about.

"For a moment."

Sam finished getting dressed, checking his appearance closely to be sure that there wasn't anything for Howard to find fault with. After that he and Al shared a mutual companionable silence as they waited, watching the clock as the hands crept steadily toward eight o'clock.

When Howard finally knocked on the bedroom door at ten minutes to eight and Sam followed him downstairs, Al knew in a glance that Sam was already in pain. The trap was baited.


	25. Chapter 25

The Face In The Mirror 

**By C. Eleiece Krawiec**

**Chapter 24**

Al waited, watching from the bedroom window as the gray pickup truck pulled out of the driveway. When Sam flashed a glance up at the window, he gave him a quick thumbs up. Then, as the truck disappeared down the street, he punched in a code. "They just left. Keep me centered on Sam at all times, Gooshie."

"Centering lock is set, Admiral," Gooshie's voice came over the handlink. Intuition seemed to be running high. "And don't worry. I've triple checked, and only Sam can see and hear you."

"What about...later?" Al's stomach twinged at that thought, but he dismissed it.

"Everything," Gooshie emphasized again, "is ready whenever it's needed."

As he was about to punch in the code to be centered on Sam, something crossed the Observer's mind. "How's Perry doing?"

"Verbena's been with him since you went into the Imaging Chamber," Gooshie replied. "Ziggy says they're talking."

"Good," was the only response Al allowed himself. "Center me on Sam." An instant later, the bedroom was empty.

------------

It hadn't surprised Sam too much when Margie's parents came out on the porch with her when he'd rung the bell. Some things never change he thought, as he went through a ritual he hadn't 'played out' since he was sixteen. As Mr. Hennessey stepped forward, he suddenly recalled how Tom had helped him practice this ritual after the first time he'd gotten up the courage to ask Lisa Parsons out.

"Good evening, sir," Sam said confidently, extending his hand and meeting John Hennessey's eyes with a smile. He saw the approval in Margie's father's eyes, felt it in the firm handshake. "Good evening, ma'am," he said, turning to Margie's mother, keeping his grip light but firm.

"Hello, Perry," Mrs. Hennessey, a slightly taller and older version of her daughter, said with a warm smile. "How are you this evening?"

Sam, Margie, and her parents exchanged pleasantries for another minute or so. Then, placing a hand under Margie's right elbow, he said lightly, "We don't want to be late for the first dance of the year," and turned toward the steps.

"Have fun, you two," Mrs. Hennessey said, quickly kissing her daughter's cheek, then stepping back.

"We will," Margie answered, smiling, her cheeks flushed almost as warm a pink as the slim, sleeveless polished cotton sheath she wore. At the gentle pressure on her elbow, she turned to walk down the steps. Glancing up, she flashed a warm smile up at her escort..

"Remember, Margie," her father called after them. "Be home by eleven o'clock."

"I'll have her home on time, sir," Sam said, pausing to look back at her father.

The Observer had watched all this from where he stood by the driver's side of the truck. But he had spent more time watching Howard than the little scene on the porch. He noted how Howard's lips thinned, then pressed together, hard, when Sam put his hand under Margie's elbow. A glance at those hooded gray eyes told him that the first bubbles of suppressed anger had just broken the surface of Howard's temper. His countenance darkened almost to the same shade as Howard's, also in anger, but for a totally different reason.

"Chill out!" he snapped even though he knew it was useless. "He's your son!" he emphasized the word. "He's a teenage boy taking a teenage girl to a dance, not Jack the Ripper scoping his next victim!" Glancing up, Al saw Sam and Margie almost at the truck. Loosing his cool now...or any time during the next few hours...would only be a hindrance ...perhaps even a harm...to Sam. Darting one last venomous glance at Howard, he yanked the reins in hard on his temper. Moving around the truck as Sam helped Margie in, Al warned, "Be careful. He's already getting hot."

Sam darted a quick sidelong glance at Howard, then managed another in the Observer's direction.

Al read the question in Sam's eyes. "I don't know why, but when you touched Margie, I could almost see his blood start to boil. For damned sure he's having a hard time holding onto his temper." The subtle nod Sam managed was response enough.

The five-minute ride to the school was silent. Sam smiled encouragingly at Margie, and squeezed her fingers gently when she looked at him questioningly, unable to fathom the thick cloud of tension hanging over them.

There were a number of students just arriving as Howard pulled up in front of the gymnasium several minutes later. Quickly, Sam got out of the truck and offered his hand to Margie to help her out. Closing the door, he leaned down to look at Howard.

"I'll be here at ten thirty to pick you up," Howard said tersely, his gaze boring into his 'son's' eyes. He didn't need to say anything else, the anger simmering in his gaze said it loudly enough.

In spite of...or maybe because of...the pain now steadily building in his head, Sam voiced Howard's unspoken thought just loudly enough for the man to hear. "Don't worry. You won't have to come and get me." A part of him enjoyed the startled look on the other man's face.

As the truck pulled away, Sam straightened and turned back to Margie. He saw that they had been joined by Cathy Durwood, the redhead from chemistry class, and her date. Almost as one, the two couples turned and went into the gymnasium.

Brightly colored balloons on long strings were attached to every chair on either side of the large room. Small clusters of balloons were fastened to the corners of the refreshment tables at the end of the gym across from the double doors where students were entering. Long crepe paper streamers in the school's colors of blue and yellow dangled from the high ceiling, fluttering in the breeze from the air conditioning. Along one wall was a broad banner bearing all the names of the juniors and seniors enrolled in Willandale for the new school year. Written above the names, in large blue and yellow letters was, "Welcome to the Willandale High School 'Junior-Senior Get Acquainted' Dance. There are no strangers at Willandale High...only new friends you haven't met yet."

The music committee, two sophomore boys and the school music director, had the 'music booth' set up in a corner opposite the refreshment tables. They were laughing and joking as they selected records and made sure that the PA hook-up was working. There were already several couples dancing to a tune that sounded familiar to Sam.

As the two couples blended into the modest crowd of teen-agers, Sam thought, Probably less than a hundred and fifty juniors and seniors combined. He and Cathy's date followed the girls to a section of seats along the wall opposite the gym's doors.

"Could I have some punch?" Margie asked, looking up at Sam as she sat down.

"Uh, sure." He glanced at Cathy. "Would you like some, too?"

"Yes," she smiled coyly at him.

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw the mischievous look light up the Observer's face, and shot a "don't even go there" look him. He knew without hearing, that the saucy remark on the tip of Al's tongue would make him blush to his hairline. Jack Wilson, Cathy's date, followed him to the refreshment table. Al trailed along behind Jack.

"Where'd you get the 'courage pill'?" Jack asked, picking up a glass of Coke from the half-dozen or so filled glasses on the table and taking a swallow.

"What do you mean?" Sam glanced at the tall thin boy with a shock of sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

"C'mon, Perry," Jack said. "When school started almost three weeks ago, you practically stopped breathing every time Margie looked at you. Now you've brought her to the 'Get Acquainted Dance'." Cathy's date paused to take a longer drink of Coke. "The way I figure it, you've found some magic 'courage pill' and swallowed about six of 'em to get you through this evening, or..."

"Or?" Sam prompted. He dropped one of the cups of punch when Jack finished his thought.

"Or..." Jack paused, cocking his head to one side, looking Sam up and down. "Or, you're not Perry Kirkwood. Hey!" he said, sidestepping a slosh of punch that splattered on the floor in front of him. "Lighten up. I was just kidding."

"If you only knew," Al said, grinning as he watched Sam mop up the spill with paper napkins. He ignored the dirty look his friend shot him as he disposed of the used napkins, got another cup of punch, and returned to the girls.

The first half hour or so of the dance followed the basic pattern that many school dances followed. Talking, laughing, eating, and as much dancing, especially the slow numbers, as the girls could convince their dates or any unattached boy into.

For the most part, Sam enjoyed himself. He tried a few of the more energetic dances, enduring Margie's and Cathy's gentle teasing at his attempts

with good humor. But when the lights were dimmed ever so slightly as the first

romantic notes of "Return To Me" filled the gym, he was the first 'boy' in the room to stand and offer his hand to his date.

"May I have this dance?" Sam asked, not realizing the appreciative look in his own eyes as he met Margie's warm brown gaze.

Margie felt her cheeks flush as she smiled up at 'Perry'. "Yes, you may." Putting her hand in his, she stood up and let him lead her to the center of the dance area.

Giving himself to the mood of the music, Sam drew Margie into his arms, and as if the most natural thing in the world, she laid her head on his shoulder. Folding her hand against his heart, he surrendered to the romance of the music. For a few minutes the couple moved to the slow, romantic tempo of the ballad as if they were the only two people in the room.

Standing to one side, Al smiled broadly as he watched the 'kid'. "Atta boy, Sammy," he said softly. "Enjoy."

But by the time the last gentle notes faded and the lights came up, things were starting to change. When she stepped back, Margie saw a familiar sight as she got a look at 'Perry's' face, now almost chalky white.

"Perry," she said, putting a hand on his arm, concerned. "Are you getting one of your headaches?"

All Sam could do was nod slightly. "I'll be okay," he whispered. "I just need to sit down." Sam's head was hurting too badly for him to be embarrassed when she, and then Cathy, each slipped an arm around his waist and walked him to a chair.

Even as he obediently sipped at a glass of water pressed into his hand, Sam set his mind to another equation, and the pain eased. But not much. Glancing to one side he saw the Observer a couple of feet away, his piercing gaze fixed on him. He managed a slight nod when Al said one word. "Bathroom."

Getting to his feet, Sam said, "I...think if I splash some cold water on my face, I'll feel better."

In her concern for Perry, Margie had sent Cathy to get one of the male chaperones. He and Margie walked Sam out of the gym, as unobtrusively as possible. At the restroom door, he convinced them that he could manage on his own, and entered alone. Al was waiting for him.

"You okay?" Al asked.

"The intense focus isn't...working," Sam gasped, gripping the edge of a sink to keep from dropping to his knees as another sharp stab of pain tore through his temples. When the pain eased and he could straighten up some, he met the Observer's dark eyes. "Don't worry, Al," he said. "I'll be okay." He had just enough time to see the understanding in Al's eyes before everything went black.

As soon as the words, "Don't worry" crossed Sam's lips, Al punched in a code on the handlink, then hesitated, his finger poised over the last button in the sequence. Only when he read Sam's eyes did he press the last button.

------------

Shaking his head a bit, Aaron opened his eyes and straightened to Sam's full height. Checking himself in a mirror, he adjusted the jacket and tie. His lip curled derisively as he studied his reflection.

"I'm never gonna wear anything like this again," he muttered. Then he leaned across the sink, his face within an inch or so of the mirror and stared into the hazel eyes looking back at him. "Come on, Sam," he mocked. "Let's get back to the party."

------------

"Perry," Margie hurried to him as he came out of the bathroom then hesitated when he smiled at her. She didn't know exactly what it was, but just by the look in his eyes, she knew something was different. "Are you feeling better?"

Not wanting to tip his hand, especially with the chaperone standing there watching, Aaron smoothly assumed Perry's mannerisms.

"Much better," he assured her. "In fact, I've got a hunch that was the last headache I'll have like that for a long, long time." He slipped an arm around her waist. They entered the gym just as another romantic song was starting. He turned to her, and smiled his most seductive smile. "Let's dance."

Margie couldn't understand it. Couldn't understand how in the space of a few minutes she could go from not wanting to ever leave Perry's arms, to feeling soiled by just the thought of him touching her. "I think I'll sit this one out," she said.

Aaron played 'Perry' to the hilt. "Oh, okay. You don't mind if I ask one of the other girls to dance, do you?" he asked with just the right amount of shy uncertainty in his voice.

"No," Margie shook her head. She watched her date saunter over to a small cluster of girls a few feet away. Almost immediately she saw him slip an arm around Patsy Klingman's waist and lead her amongst the other couples. She shivered, watching them, and then went to sit with Cathy.

A few minutes later the song ended and Aaron returned Patsy to her girlfriends, leaving her with a knowing wink, then went in search of Margie. He spotted her standing near one of the refreshment tables with a chunky redhead and a tall, skinny kid, all three talking and eating chocolate cake.

_You're a much tastier morsel than that cake, baby_ Aaron allowed the lascivious observation to slither through his thoughts as he walked up to them. _And before this night is over, I intend to enjoy a sample._

"There you are," he exclaimed with a smile, deliberately standing very close to her.

"You feel better now, Perry?" Jack asked, wolfing down a large bite of cake.

"Yeah, sure," Aaron spared a brief glance in the other boy's direction.

"That's great," Cathy said, unabashedly licking a spot of dark frosting from one finger. "But Mr. Weathersby decided, 'just to be on the safe side'," she imitated a man's slightly nasal voice, "he should call your father to come get you." She popped another bite of cake in her mouth. "He should be here any minute."

Aaron swore and screamed inside, even as he nodded understandingly at the ditzy redhead. "Thanks for telling me." He cast an eye at the bit of cake left on Margie's plate, then inclined his head to catch a whiff of the aroma. "Mmmm! That smells great! Is it good?" he asked as she took another dainty bite.

"Yes, it is," Margie said, swallowing the bite of cake. "Amy's mom makes the best fudge cake I've ever tasted."

Aaron fixed her with a winning smile. "May I have a taste?"

Wordlessly she nodded and lifted the last morsel on her fork, hesitating a moment before offering it to him.

With the swiftness of a swooping hawk, Aaron grabbed Margie by the waist, pulled her against him and kissed her hard. _Get outta this, Sam _Aaron laughed raucously as he deliberately retreated into the blackness, forcing Sam out.

He tasted chocolate...and something else. As the blackness faded from his mind and his eyes focused, Sam felt the crimson heat flood his face as he realized that it was a girl's lips he was tasting. Realizing where his hands were, he jerked them away, just as two heavy hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away from the girl. Margie. For an instant all he could do was just stand, feeling the heat in his face double as he looked into Margie's startled eyes as she, too just stood there, too shocked to react.

Fred Weathersby, the chaperone that had helped 'Perry' to the restroom, had lingered nearby when he had returned to the dance, still a bit pale. But when he saw the young man grab Margie Hennessey, he reacted instantly, grabbing the boy and forcing him away from her. Not wanting to cause a scene if it could be avoided, he backed Sam several feet away from the startled girl.

"I think you'd better leave now Perry," he said, keeping his voice low but sharp. He glanced again at Margie, then back at the red faced boy in his grasp. Dropping his voice lower, he said, "It's a good thing it wasn't my daughter you grabbed."

Sam started to apologize, but felt the pain begin again, even sharper than before. Desperately he reached out a hand to Margie, only to have it slapped away by Fred Weathersby.

"Keep your hands to yourself," the chaperone said, "and leave...now." His gaze and attitude was unrelenting. He waited another few seconds then said softly so only 'Perry' could hear, "Don't make me call your father. Or the police."

Sam looked to Margie again. "Margie, I am so sorry," he pleaded. "Please forgive me. I..I don't know what came over me." It was a lie. He knew all too well what had come over him. "Please forgive me," he begged.

Margie Hennessey's thoughts were in a whirl. She hadn't moved an inch since the chaperone had grabbed 'Perry' and pushed him away. She watched Mr. Weathersby talking to Perry. She didn't really hear whatever it was Cathy was rattling on about as she put an arm around her shoulders. She's so excitable. The only thing she knew for sure was that in spite of his obvious embarrassment and whatever the chaperone was saying to him, she still trusted Perry. Stepping out of her friend's comforting embrace, she walked over to 'Perry' and Mr. Weathersby.

"Margie," Fred Weathersby was surprised to see her so close. "I don't think..."

"It's all right, Mr. Weathersby," she said calmly. "Perry didn't hurt me."

"But he grabbed you!" the man insisted, still striving to keep his voice at a reasonable level.

In spite of the tension hanging over them and the chaperone's steely grip on his arm, Sam kept his eyes on the slender girl studying his face. "Margie," he apologized, "I am so very, very sorry. Please believe me. It was the headache..."

"I believe you," she said, absolute trust in her voice. "It must really be a bad one."

"It is," he said. "It's like I...blacked out." Sam hesitated. "You...you know that I would never ever hurt you."

When Margie reached her hand up to cup his cheek, Sam felt a spark of hope. Gently he pressed his cheek against her hand, his eyes locked with hers. But his heart skipped a beat when she removed her hand and turned to face Fred Weathersby.

"Perry didn't hurt me," she said in a low, clear voice. "Yes, he grabbed me and kissed me, but that's all he did." She glanced up at Sam. "I know Perry well enough," she said, "to know that he wouldn't do something like that deliberately." She turned back to the waiting man.

"He gets awful headaches," she explained. "I've been around Perry often enough when he's got one of his headaches to know how badly he hurts when he has them." Her gaze nor her composure wavered. "I think tonight the pain was so intense that he simply reacted to it in a very unexpected way."

Fred Weathersby didn't say anything for a moment. Finally, glancing at the silent boy still firmly in his grasp, he said quietly, "Are you sure you don't want me to call your father to come get you, Margie?"

"I'm sure," she said confidently. "And, Cathy," she glanced around for her friend, "will vouch for me when I tell my folks. She was standing beside me when it happened."

"That's right," Cathy affirmed as she stepped up beside her friend. "I was."

"I saw it, too," Jack Wilson spoke up as he moved to stand beside Cathy. "We both saw what happened, Mr. Weathersby. Perry didn't hurt, Margie. He just kissed her."

It was another couple of minutes before Fred Weathersby released Sam. Letting his gaze go from Margie to 'Perry' he said quietly, "I advise you both to go straight home." He turned his gaze fully on Margie. "And I will be calling your parents tonight to let them know what happened."

"I'm going to tell them, too," Margie assured him calmly. "Because nothing but an unexpected kiss happened." She glanced at her watch and turned to Sam. "It's almost ten thirty, Perry. Maybe we should wait for your father outside."

-----------

Through it all, Al, now a silent and invisible Observer, even and especially to Sam, had watched the scene unfold, drawing on his military discipline to keep his mind focused, putting his private observations aside to consider later. As he listened to the exchange, he punched a couple of questions into the handlink. When Sam and Margie left the gym, followed closely by Cathy and Jack Al brought of the rear of the little group.

In the sultry warmth of the August night, Al strolled near the couples while they waited for their rides. He only half listened to the idle chatter between Cathy and Jack; his main focus was on Sam and Margie.

They sat together quietly on one of the cement benches several feet to one side of the gymnasium doors. He hadn't been close enough to hear what Margie whispered to Sam as they sat down. But when he saw Sam shift his position slightly and lay his head on her shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut, his lips a thin white line, Al knew how badly his friend was hurting. For a moment he allowed his emotions to get loose as he mentally shook his fist under the nose of GTFW.

_He's done so much. Suffered so much all these years, doing your thankless dirty work, putting right whatever it is you wanted put right. What more do you want from him?_

Realizing that it was neither the time nor place, for his emotions, Al allowed discipline to get his mind and thoughts back on track.

It was exactly ten thirty when the Observer saw the gray pickup truck turn in the school driveway and head for the gym. There was a dark blue Chevy behind it.

Pulling up in front of the gym, Howard saw his son sitting with his head on Margie Hennessey's shoulder. Not realizing what he was doing, Howard prayed that nothing had happened.

For nearly ten minutes, Margie had sat quietly beside Perry. One hand held his while she gently stroked the fingers of her other hand across his forehead. When she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, Margie glanced up and saw the pickup. "Your father's here," she said softly, listening to Perry's moan of pain at having to move. She slid an arm around his waist as they stood up, steadying him. By the time the truck came to a halt at the curb, she and Sam were waiting there.

Sam was sure his knees were going to give out as he leaned against Margie, wincing when Howard got out of the truck and slammed his door. But, by the time Perry's father got around the truck to him, Jack had hurried over to open the door for him, then helped him inside. Very carefully he leaned his head back and closed his eyes as Margie slid onto the seat beside him and closed the door.

Jack bent down and looked in. "You gonna be okay, Perry?" he asked, concern in his voice as he watched his friend's pain drawn face.

Sam opened his eyes and glanced at Jack, managing a slight nod. "I'll be fine," he whispered. "Thanks."

Seeing Howard hurrying around to get in the driver's side, Sam knew he only had a few seconds. He glanced at Margie, hesitated then took her hand in his.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, looking into her eyes.

"Shh," Margie whispered softly as she laid a finger on his lips. "You don't have anything to apologize for," she reproved gently. In spite of his pain, she could still see determination in the blue-gray eyes watching her. A slightly mischievous grin touched her lips as she leaned closer to whisper in his ear, "So our second kiss was more public and unexpected than I would've liked." She paused then whispered, "I still liked it." Drawing back, the wan smile turning up the corners of 'Perry's' lips told her he understood.

Even the slightest movement aggravated the steadily intensifying pain in Sam's head. But that didn't stop him as he leaned close to whisper in her ear. When she drew back and nodded her understanding, he let go of her hand and closed his eyes. He winced again at the sound of the door slamming as Howard got in beside him and started the engine.

The silent ride to Margie's house was accomplished in less than ten minutes. After she got out and closed the door, Sam slid over by the window and reached a hand out to her.

"Remember," he whispered urgently as she moved closer to take his hand.

From the corner of her eye she thought she saw a frown darken Mr. Kirkwood's face. She didn't care. "Fifteen minutes," she responded softly, leaning close to whisper in 'Perry's' ear.

Sam gasped and squeezed his eyes shut momentarily as an especially harsh pain stabbed through his temples. "And...don't be...afraid."

Margie gave a small nod and squeezed his fingers. "I won't,' she promised, then quickly leaned in and kissed Sam's cheek. "I'll be there," she whispered against his ear, then stepped back as Howard shifted into drive and backed out of the Hennesseys' driveway.

She stood watching as the pickup turned left at the corner and disappeared. For a couple of minutes Margie stood quietly, listening to the sounds of crickets and cicadas chirping in the warm late summer night. Then she heard the squeaky hinge on the front door creak as it was opened.

"Right on time," her mother said. "Where's Perry?"

Margie didn't turn around. "He got a really bad headache at the dance," she said. "He and his dad just dropped me off."

There was quiet between mother and daughter for a few seconds. Then, "We have company," Ruth Hennessey said quietly.

At that Margie turned to look at her mother, then hurried inside. The squeaky hinge creaked again as the door was shut.

------------

By the time Howard turned into his driveway, 'Perry' was sitting more or less upright but his eyes were still closed. Getting out to go around to help him, he closed the truck door rather hard, then heard the gasp. Glancing inside, Howard watched his son grab his head, pressing the heels of his hands hard against his temples. Dismissing the flicker of guilt that flitted through his mind, he went around and opened the passenger side door.

"Here, let me help you," he said as Sam carefully put first one then the other foot on the ground. Sliding an arm around his waist, Howard slowly walked him up the front steps and into the house. It took another couple of minutes for them to get upstairs.

Gratefully Sam sank down on the side of the bed, enjoying the coolness and near darkness of the room. He winced when Howard turned on the small bedside lamp, but didn't say anything.

"Can you undress or do you need help?" Howard asked.

"I can manage," Sam said, pain coloring his every word. Leaning forward he propped his elbows on his knees and then dropped his face into his hands.

"How about if get you something to drink," Howard said. "Some milk, maybe?" He hesitated then added, almost as an afterthought, "How about some hot chocolate?" Unexpectedly, a brief smile crossed his lips as a memory gentled his thoughts for an instant. "When you were little you loved having hot chocolate at bedtime."

For a single moment, the pain in Sam's head eased enough for the question to come through in all its implications. "Sounds good, dad," he answered wearily.

"Get into your pajamas and I'll be back up in a few minutes," Howard said. He turned toward the door, then stopped and went to stand in front of Sam.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder, Sam looked up at Perry's father. The look in his eyes was the closest thing to caring or understanding he'd seen in the man since his leap in.

Never had Howard hated himself more than at that moment as he spoke the cruelest lie of his life. "It will help you sleep," he said gently. "You'll feel better in the morning."

Sam looked into Howard's eyes, knowing he was lying. Still he managed a tired smile. "That's probably all I need. A good night's sleep." Watching the big man turn and step into the hall, Sam felt his gut instincts kick in. "Dad?" he said, waiting till the other man met his eyes.

"Yes?"

"I love you," Sam said quietly. He watched Howard walk away.

Untying his shoes, Sam kicked them off. Getting slowly to his feet, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it across the chair by the desk. The rest of his clothes landed on the floor. He had just pulled on the pajama pants...

------------

When he was denied the opportunity of gloating over his host's embarrassment and humiliation after his brief emergence at the dance, Aaron's anger had blown up into full- fledged fury.

In the past hour he had raged and pushed and clawed, determined to come out. Little by little, he began to recognize that his most resistant prey's strength was beginning to disintegrate like so much sand in high surf.

Suddenly he found a gap in the resistance. His fury became a black rage that ripped the small opening wider, and he hurled himself headlong into transition.

------------

Standing just a few feet away and watching Sam's suffering increase as Aaron prepared to emerge stirred the Observer's emotions to fever pitch. Only the discipline of a lifetime helped him to push his personal feelings aside and wait for the signal. He wasn't sure what it would be; it didn't matter. Al knew he would recognize it when it was given. When he heard Sam speak a moment later, he knew.

------------

Sam gasped as the white-hot pain ripped through his skull. Grabbing the edge of the dresser to keep from falling, he sagged against it, then dropped to his knees. Pressing the heels of his hands against his temples, his eyes squeezed shut, he did the only thing left to him to do.

"Please..." he begged, tears of agony beginning to run down his face. "Please, stop. I can't stand this anymore!"

------------

"Here we go," was all the Observer muttered as he entered a code on the handlink.

It was a very minute change. But the change involved tweaking a few of the neurons and mesons he had received from Sam several years past. It also caused a few seconds of slight dizziness.

"Hurry up, Gooshie!" Al snapped, "or I'm gonna blow chunks all over this place!"

Then, just as he felt his system resume 'normal mode', Sam cried out for him.

"Oh, God...Al!" Sam sobbed. "Where are you?"

Al hurried to his friend and there in the Imaging Chamber, knelt down in front of him. At that instant, he knew that if he could have wished it into being so, he would have exchanged places with Sam in a heartbeat. But it wasn't about to happen, so he used the skills he had.

"I'm right here in front of you, Sam," he said. "Open your eyes and look at me."

Once again, Sam reached out through the pain, found the familiar sound of Al's voice, trusted it, and opened his eyes. Ignoring the steadily intensifying pain when the soft light from the bedside lamp touched his eyes, he focused as best he could on the Observer's face.

"Al!" It was a sob of agony and relief falling from Sam's lips as he looked once more into the dark eyes of the Observer. "I can't take it anymore, Al," he gasped the words.

"Fight him, Sam," Al ordered sharply. "You have to fight him with everything you've got!"

"I...am...fighting him," Sam said, his speech short and choppy.

"Then you've gotta dig deeper and fight harder," Al used his "admiral's voice" as Sam had once deemed it.

"I have been fighting, dammit!" Sam swore angrily as his pain doubled. "But it's like a blind man trying to box. I know someone's there, I can feel the punches. But I can't see to hit back."

But no matter what he was suffering, Sam Beckett's ingrained sense of fairness wouldn't let him stay angry at his best friend. "I'm sorry," he whispered, tears cascading down his cheeks as he looked into Al's eyes. "It...just...hurts so bad."

-------------

Howard was halfway up the stairs with the cup of hot chocolate when he heard the soft thud followed by sobs of pain. He took the rest of the steps three at a time and was at Perry's bedroom door in four strides. Flinging the door open, he saw Perry on his knees, weeping, his hands on his head... and talking to thin air.

Setting the cup on the bedside table he went to his son and without a word bent down and helped him to stand.

"Come on," he said, half-walking, half-carrying the tormented boy to the bed. Easing 'Perry' down on the side of the bed, Howard sat down beside him, keeping his arm around his son's shoulders.

"It hurts!" 'Perry' wept, pressing ever harder on his temples. "Make it stop!" he begged, looking at his father. "Please make it stop hurting."

At those pleading words from his only child, Howard's throat constricted so tightly he almost couldn't breathe. But his hand was steady as he picked up the cup of lukewarm chocolate.

"Here," he said quietly, putting the cup to his 'son's' lips. "Drink some of this. It will help you sleep...and make the pain stop."

------------

Al followed Howard and Sam to the bed, standing in front of them so he was directly in Sam's line of sight. At Howard's quietly spoken assurance, he felt a knot twist in his belly. When he spoke, he saw Sam hesitate before drinking from the cup.

"Are you sure you this will work, Sam?" When his friend glanced up at him and nodded, Al acknowledged him with a nod. Then, as Sam took the first swallow, he punched in the special code on the handlink, once more becoming a silent and invisible Observer.

-------------

Sam took a couple of swallows of the tepid chocolate before finally turning away from the cup. He noted that the pain had eased a bit. He had a feeling it was just the lull before the storm.

"You want some more?" Howard asked, glancing in the cup.

"No, thank you," Sam whispered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I've had enough." He looked at Howard. "Maybe if I lay down…"

Howard nodded and got up. He watched his son lay down on his right side, placing his head very carefully on the pillow. He noted how Perry drew his knees up, his arms against his chest with his hands folded under his chin. _ Just like when he was little. _he thought.

_And terrified _came the unbidden thought.

Brushing that thought aside, Howard set the cup down and turned to draw the sheet up to Perry's shoulder. Knowing how sensitive his son's skin was during a headache, he draped the sheet over him gently. He noted the drying tear stains on Perry's face. The tears had stopped, but he knew they would flow again when the headache resumed. The bad headaches, like this one, always did. They were never over with quickly..

Howard dared to brush the damp hair off Perry's forehead. When the boy looked up at him he said softly, "Close your eyes. You'll be asleep before you know it."

"Okay," Sam said, and obeyed. Through his lashes, the time traveler watched Howard as he left the room, drawing the door closed with care.

In the quiet of the low-lit room, Sam glanced around. Trying not to think of the shadows, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and relaxed.

Then, between one heartbeat and the next he was snatched into hell.


	26. Chapter 26

The Face In The Mirror 

**By C. Eleiece Krawiec**

**Chapter 25**

Once into the swirling vortex of transition, Aaron sensed his adversary's steadily crumbling control, and gave 'voice' to his fury.

_You shouldn't have done that, Sam!_ he screamed. _You shouldn't have denied me! _Like the ravening wolf he'd been likened to, Aaron prowled the shadowy corridors of a frightened man's mind, searching out his quarry.

_I destroyed all those sniveling little brats for just getting in my way. But you're dangerous. You're stronger than they were. Even stronger than that aggravating bitch, "Evalynn". I'm gonna destroy you!_ he 'shrieked'. _And I'm gonna enjoy doing it!_

Turning into yet another narrow corridor of Sam's mind, Aaron prowled its length, poking and kicking into the shadows of discarded thoughts and ideas. Relentless as a snake on the scent trail of its prey, he continued his search.

He would find this one. He had found all of the others, and had enjoyed their screams as he had enveloped them, smothering them with his rage. He had enjoyed destroying them, and he was going to enjoy destroying this one. Then he paused... sniffed...and a smile as bleak as an Arctic winter thinned his lips.

Drawing in a deep breath of the stench of fear emanating from his adversary, Aaron plunged forward. _You tired of hurtin', Sam?_ he screamed as he unerringly continued to follow the smell of fear. Drawing ever closer to its source, he felt his rage grow.

------------

Sam had been in many fights since that first leap. Always the fight was against his will, and it was always to defend those unable to defend themselves. And he had rarely a second thought for his own safety each of those times. But now all the brilliance he had been blessed with couldn't keep Samuel Beckett from trembling all over as he waited. Waited like a rabbit for the hounds to swarm over him and rip him to shreds.

Then suddenly the ugliest part of Perry Kirkwood's inborn determination to survive at all costs swarmed into the narrow corridor where he waited and boiled straight at him.

The massive, almost venomous hatred all over and around him seemed to 'soak' into his being, and Sam struggled to breathe as he 'grappled' with Aaron. For a moment it seemed he was winning. Then the white-hot pain tore through his mind again and he fell. And as he fell, Sam felt Aaron press in with every bit of strength his rage afforded him. In that instant Sam felt his strength leave him and he surrendered to the terror.

_AL!_ he screamed wildly. _ AL...HELP ME!_

_Say goodbye, Sam!_ Aaron shrieked into the maelstrom of the blackest rage that had ever driven him.

Then, in the midst of the mindless terror intent on destroying him, Sam felt a sudden calm surround him. It sheltered him from the flying debris of unbridled rage, and like a child he clung to it. Then a new yet familiar voice spoke.

_Be calm, Sam_ Philip said. _You are safe, but you must not speak. You must shield your thoughts and be silent until it is time._

Sam obeyed.

-------------

Standing only three feet away from the bed, Al had watched, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, when Sam's body suddenly began thrashing violently on the bed.

"He's in transition," he said sharply into the handlink. He opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped to swallow to moisten his dry throat. "Get ready. He could disappear any second." The words were barely out of his mouth...

"He's gone!" Gooshie's frantic shout surged through the handlink.

"Can the hysterics, Mr. Gushmann!" Al barked sharply. "We don't have time for 'em! Either get a handle on 'em or get outta the control room."

Giving the chief programmer a few seconds to gather his momentarily scattered wits, Al punched a question into the handlink:

'Ziggy, exactly what part of Sam have we lost contact with?'

The hybrid computer with an ego the size of a small galaxy responded instantaneously.

"We have temporarily lost contact with that part of Doctor Beckett's brain that controls conscious thought processes. Also that area that has been postulated to be the seat of emotions."

The Observer punched in another question:

'What about the connection through our shared mesons and neurons?'

Ziggy responded:

"As long as Doctor Beckett's body remains alive, and barring any severe trauma to his cranium that might alter the internal pattern of the mesons and neurons, or..."

"In twenty-five words or less!" Al snapped.

Ziggy complied:

'As long as Doctor Beckett is alive, we can make full holographic contact.' There was a pause then two words appeared on the handlink's tiny screen. 'Thirteen words.'

Off the top of his head the Observer could think of at least a half dozen ways he'd like to rip the haughty hybrid computer apart once Sam was safely retrieved. For the present he simply muttered an obscenity under his breath, and punched in another question.

'What about his life function readouts?'

Ziggy's response was clinically correct:

'Doctor Beckett's body continues to function.'

"Let's hope we can get the essence of the man back into that body," Al muttered softly. A sudden cessation of movement from the body on the bed grabbed Al's attention.

"Gooshie?" Al demanded softly.

"Here, Admiral," Gooshie said. "Sir..."

Al knew he was about to try and apologize. But there wasn't time for that now.

"Save it!" he said sharply. "I think Aaron's about to come out. Get ready for another switch."

"Ready, admiral," Gooshie replied.

-----------

As his rage melted away, Aaron searched through the last vestiges of it, but found nothing, not so much as a particle of his strongest adversary remained. And he laughed.

The sound of his cruel, triumphant laughter filled the darkness, the raucous sound echoing in the once active corridors of Samuel Beckett's mind. But the once stellar brilliance that had brought John Beckett's son to this moment had vanished.

Aaron spent a few seconds gloating in his captured domain, but his restlessness for release wouldn't be denied any longer. He sniffed one last time...detected nothing...and surged upward, seizing consciousness and freedom.

As he rose up and claimed consciousness, Aaron lay still a few moments, orienting himself in his new body. Letting his eyes adjust to the low light in the room, he glanced idly around. Noticing the cup on the bedside table, he rolled over and picked it up and sniffed.

"Um," he smiled, "chocolate," and drained the half cup of cold sweet liquid in a single gulp. He shuddered, wrinkling his nose at the taste. "Needs more sugar," he muttered, setting the cup down.

Getting up, he flicked on the overhead light, then went to the closet and opened the door and assumed a pose in front of the full length mirror attached to the door.

"Thanks for the body, Sam," he said aloud as he studied his reflection. "It's a great body," he said, "but there just wasn't room enough for both us."

------------

Watching Sam's body moving around the small bedroom, knowing that the essence that was the true Samuel Beckett wasn't controlling it, caused a faint taste of bile to rise up in the Observer's throat. He swallowed, pushing the acrid taste down. He listened and watched without comment or private thought to Aaron's gloating. When he heard the last comment, Al knew it was time.

He punched in a code on the handlink. "This is it, Gooshie. Time for some hand-to-hand combat. Switch."

As he waited the few seconds for the shift to take place, Al never took his eyes off Aaron. "Let's see how you handle someone your own size," he muttered.

So intent was Al's attention on Aaron that he didn't notice when the shift was complete until Gooshie's voice came over the handlink, advising him of it.

Moving to stand behind Sam's body as Aaron continued to posture before the mirror, Al deliberately took a moment to light a cigar. He took a long slow puff of the fragrant Chivello before speaking.

"The ride's not over, Aaron," he said darkly, a part of him enjoying seeing the startled personality jump in reaction to his sudden appearance. "In fact, it's just beginning."

In an attempt to cover being caught off guard, Aaron swaggered toward the Observer. "Where the hell did you come from?" he demanded loudly.

When the man dressed totally in black didn't reply, he felt his temper start to rise again. "If you're looking for the good doctor...Al," he sneered, "you're a little late."

"Where is he?" Al asked, his tone not giving away anything.

"Gone."

"Gone where?" Al couldn't help the cold shiver that ran down his back when a malevolent gleam lit Sam's usually bright hazel eyes. He took another puff on the cigar, never breaking eye contact.

Aaron's anger was steadily building again. He didn't like answering questions from authority figures or someone with an attitude; "authority" and "attitude" were written all over this guy. Strike one. He also didn't like others sneaking up on him, and this guy was too damned good at it. Strike two. But mostly what he didn't like was the fact that Al was cool, not easily rattled. Strike three.

"As in for good...Al!" he spat the words angrily. When Al didn't react, he spelled it out with cruel bluntness. "I destroyed him. Doctor Beckett no longer exists." He glanced down at himself then turned a cold smile on the man watching him. "Of course, his body's here...only it's not his any more. It's mine." He cracked up with harsh laughter. "And there ain't a damned thing you can do about it."

"It won't work, Aaron," Al said, his tone becoming as cold, if not colder than that of the personality. "You're a part of Perry, not Doctor Beckett, and genetics is something you can't control."

Aaron mistook Al's attitude, honed by years of experience, as arrogant bluster. Getting within an arm's reach of him, he smirked, "Oh, but I can ...Al. In fact," he said, turning so he could admire himself in the mirror again, "I think it'll work out better this way. Sam's body's in much better condition than Perry."

The Observer's outer demeanor remained unchanged. But inside, the hunter focused on his objective with an intensity he'd never felt before. _Come on, you bastard_ Al thought_. Just a little closer..._

"But that's just it," he pointed out calmly, not letting his Italian temper slip the stranglehold he had on it. Losing control now, would, most likely, doom Sam. "Without Samuel Beckett's mind, his body is just a shell. You don't have the slightest notion of how to keep it in this condition."

"No problem," Aaron continued to smirk at Al, folding his arms across his chest. "I'll just use Dr. Beckett's memories as a guide."

The Observer's smile was coldly calculating as Aaron unknowingly walked into the trap. "You can't."

"What makes you so damned sure?" Aaron demanded in a particularly ugly tone of voice.

"You've already admitted that you've destroyed Doctor Beckett," he said, his tone taking on the attitude of one who has just assumed control of a situation. "You have nothing to draw from." Now it was his turn to take a step toward the punk.

"When you destroyed Sam Beckett, you destroyed his memories." Al took another long, slow pull on the Chivello and blew the smoke in Aaron's face. "And now you don't have any access to Perry either." He liked the way the punk's face went white, startled confusion written all over it.

"What do you mean?" he shouted angrily.

Al was enjoying turning every vindictive attitude back on Aaron. "Just what I said. Perry's in a place you can't ever reach him."

"Howard..."

"Not even Howard can get to him," Al cut him off mercilessly. He watched Aaron's cockiness begin to crumble. How's it feel, you no good bastard! he thought. How do you like feeling the ground disintegrating under your feet?

He took another step, closing the gap between him and Aaron. When he spoke again, his voice was still, but now with an element of command.

"How do you think the people in this town are going to react when Perry does a complete turn around? When he starts doing things that are the total opposite his normal behavior?"

"They'll think he's finally woke up and started to enjoy life," Aaron shouted, grudgingly taking a step back as Al crowded him. But again, Al's words jerked him up short.

Al advanced another couple of steps. "Or gone crazy. And they'll put Perry...you in the Colver County State Hospital for the rest of Sam Beckett's life."

"Well...then, I'll just make Perry appear to change so slowly nobody'll notice."

Al's voice was pure ice as he pronounced the words that slammed the trap door shut. "Nobody... but me."

For the first time in his existence, Aaron felt an uneasy jolt go through him at Al's words. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said."

"You're bluffing!" Aaron's voice rose to a fevered shout. "If the 'goody-two shoes' is gone, you can't reach him."

"Wrong." Al paused to take a long slow puff of the Chivello, his eyes never leaving Aaron's defiant glare. "Dr. Beckett's personality may be gone, but I'll always be around, because I'm tuned to his brain waves." He noted that as he took another step closer, Aaron fell back another step.

"You might control his body, Aaron," he continued, hurling each word with a precision that made each one sting worse than the one before. "But you'll never tune me out. I'm always gonna be here."

He watched as Perry Kirkwood's most aggressive and dangerous alternate personality, now highly agitated, jumped like a frightened child who has just seen himself in a warped fun house mirror.

Dodging away from the closet door, he moved across the room, wanting some distance between himself and Al. "Yeah, well, maybe so. But it won't do you no good. Sam ain't never coming back."

"Maybe not. But it damn sure won't do you any good either," Al informed him, his words soft as silk, as he continued his steady advance toward Aaron. When Sam's back collided with the wall near the bedroom door, he got right up in his face.

"You see...Aaron, nobody but you can see or hear me." The Observer's eyes took on a look of cruel pleasure. "And because no one else can see or hear me, starting right now I intend on making the rest of your life a living hell." Al watched the color drain from Sam's face as Aaron realized what he was saying.

"You'll never know when I'm going to show up. And people who talk back to someone who isn't there ... " For effect, he held his cigar in Aaron's face then delicately tapped it, the ash disappearing as it fell. The sweat popping up on Sam's brow told him he'd scored a direct hit.

"I'll...I'll just ignore you," Aaron shot back, but the words weren't as confident as before.

"People in mental institutions..." Al began.

Aaron's temper began to reassert itself. "Nobody's gonna put me in no damn cracker factory!" Slithering sideways, he escaped from Al, backing hurriedly away from him. "Nobody'll ever get me in that booby hatch up the road."

Al turned but didn't follow. Instead he deliberately looked from the cup on the bedside table to his watch to Aaron. "Oh you're going all right," he said. "Howard took care of that about fifteen minutes ago.." He glanced at his watch again. "It should be taking effect right about now."

"What are you talking about?" Aaron shouted, unaware of the large drops of sweat beginning to trickle down the sides of his face.

"The knockout drops Howard put in that hot chocolate," Al said. He saw something in Aaron's...Sam's...eyes and nodded. "Guess he didn't use quite enough sugar to hide the taste."

He peered closely at Aaron. "You know, you don't look so good. You feeling okay?" He looked concerned when Aaron stumbled as he backed up again. "Yeah...they're startin' to work."

Too much was happening all at once. Aaron felt a wave of dizziness that caused the room to tilt crazily when he jerked his head around at the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs.

"I think you better get on the bed," Al continued to press relentlessly. "Because when those drops kick in, you're gonna go down like a load of bricks."

"Shut up!" the now uncertain and desperate personality screamed. "Just shut up!"

Al smiled a small cold smile. There was fear in Aaron's voice.

------------

Coming back downstairs, Howard had thrown out the rest of the hot chocolate and put the pan to soak in the sink. He then spent the next fifteen minutes chain smoking and pacing restlessly around the small room. Every few minutes he checked his watch and looked upward, listening.

He was lifting his lighter to light yet another cigarette when he heard the shouting. Both lighter and cigarette hit the floor as he stared upward disbelievingly.

"It can't be," he whispered hoarsely. "I used half the damn bottle! He should be out cold."

When he heard the shouting start again, Howard tore out of the kitchen and up the stairs. As he reached to open Perry's bedroom door, his mouth set in a bitter line as he recognized the voice. Aaron!

"Dammit all to hell!" he swore bitterly. "Just once! Why can't I catch a break just once! First her… and then Perry. And now this!" It was a bitter, desperate but doggedly determined man that slammed open the door and bellowed. "What the hell's going on in here?"

------------

The door slamming open and Howard's big frame filling the doorway was the last straw. Aaron's temper blew.

"You no good son of a bitch," he screamed. "Why did you drug me?"

Howard's eyes narrowed. "Who told you were drugged?" he said suspiciously.

"He did!" Aaron said and pointed at Al standing by the desk.

Beyond caring, Howard shouted the only word he'd never spoken in his son's presence. "You're crazy! I didn't drug you, you rotten, conniving punk," Howard shouted, his own anger reaching dangerous limits. "I drugged my son so I could put him somewhere he'd be...safe."

"You ain't locking me up in no damn nut house," Aaron screamed back. "I'll kill you before that happens." Even as the room tilted crazily, his fury pushed him to fling himself at Howard, fists flailing. But another wave of dizziness turned it into a stumble and he fell.

Howard jumped forward and caught Aaron before he hit the floor and received a glancing punch on the jaw. Angrily, he manhandled Aaron into a reverse bear hug, his son's back to his chest and the boy's arms pinned against his body.

"If it wasn't my son's body you're in, " he said against Aaron's ear, "I'd beat you senseless." Then, like Al, he noticed the glassy glaze in his son's eyes. "But you're about to pass out. And when you wake up tomorrow morning, you'll be in a straitjacket, in a padded room with bars on windows too thick to break and too high to reach."

Shaking Aaron roughly, he half-pushed, half flung him on the bed. A semblance of decency made him go and arrange his son on his back in the center of the bed.

Straightening up to his full six foot three inch height, Howard stared coldly into Aaron's glazed, half open eyes and said, "Perry is gonna grow old and die in Colver. And you with him." He paused, watching his son's body go limp as Aaron finally succumbed to the power of the knockout drops. "Good riddance to old trouble."

------------

When Howard burst into the room, Al had moved to a vantage point by the window, able to see everything in the room and with a good view of the driveway. A flicker of uneasiness flashed through his mind when Howard and Aaron started screaming at each other. A moment later the uneasiness became anxiety when the now half out of it personality flung himself at Perry's father, fists swinging wildly.

He checked his watch again and looked out the window. "Come on, Margie," he said softly. "Sam's a goner if you don't hurry up."

In the next instant he felt a sense of relief wash over him as a red station wagon pulled into the driveway and four adults and one teenage girl got out and hurried toward the house. Another moment passed and he heard the sound of multiple rushing footsteps on the stairs.

"Hurry," he muttered urgently. Seeing the callous way Howard threw Sam's body at the bed almost made him lose it right then and there. Even when the big man relented and went to arrange Sam's body in a more comfortable position on the bed, didn't stop Al from hurling every filthy Italian epithet in his vocabulary at him.

Rarely in his life had anyone ever done or said anything that ever left Albert Calavicci gape-mouthed with speechlessness. But this leap had seen that event occur once, and now, it happened again. The Observer's emotional outburst out of worry and concern for his best friend was no match for the cold and indifferent hostility of Howard Kirkwood's final words to Aaron. Al could only stand and stare at the man consigning his son to a lifetime of horror in bedlam.

But in the same instant Al was rendered momentarily speechless by Howard's unfeeling pronouncement, a beautiful woman with snapping dark eyes stepped into the doorway. Never had a prayer of thanksgiving from Albert Calavicci's heart winged its way heavenward faster than when Stacia O'Nyan McCutcheon snapped, "You nor anyone else is putting my son in a mental hospital, Howard. You'll have to go through me and hell first."

------------

Howard Kirkwood's moment of bitter triumph over the arrogant alternate personality of his son evaporated at the sound of a voice he hadn't heard so close to him for fifteen years.

Whirling he demanded, "What are you doing here, Stacia? I told you never to come back here." But Howard was quickly reminded of one of the things he hated about his former wife when she didn't back down.

Even in her early forties with a couple of strands of gray showing in her thick, black hair, neatly done up in a twist, Stacia O'Nyan McCutcheon was still a breathtakingly beautiful woman. And the independent and undeniable, unbreakable self-confidence that Howard had despised was stronger than ever. She met his gaze squarely.

"I came because my son called me yesterday and told me he was scared," she said advancing to stand toe to toe with Howard, not at all intimidated by the fact that he towered several inches over her.

"Scared of what?" Howard's tone became ugly as all the reasons he'd driven Stacia away came rushing back. Her strong will, her intelligence and education, and several other reasons filled his thoughts. But when she spoke again, they vanished in the unshakable, unmovable presence of a mother protecting her child when she answered him.

"He told me he'd overheard you talking to someone on the phone yesterday morning. And," she continued strongly, "he also said he'd heard you say you had gotten the drops, that you knew how to use them."

Howard felt his anger begin to rise at the accusing words being hurled at him. The fact that Margie Hennessey and her parents and Stacia's husband were standing in the bedroom doorway, watching and listening to everything being said only added fuel to the fury beginning to burn in him, the fury that hadn't burned for a long time.

"He's imagining things," he shouted angrily, waving his hands in her face. "It's all those goddamned books he reads and his teachers stuffing his mind full of garbage about 'higher education.' It's your fault. You started poisoning his mind when he was little with all that garbage about climbing mountains and sailing seas and writing books and going to college to 'be somebody.'"

Stacia remained undaunted. "Just because several members of your family who went to college became mentally ill and ended up in Colver, doesn't mean that the same thing's going to happen to Perry." She glanced at her son's unmoving form then back at Howard. "He's my son, too, Howard."

"Don't I know it!" Howard spat the bitter words at her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"Nothin'. Just forget it," Howard said coldly.

"Should I also forget that Perry told me after you drugged him that you were going to sign him into Colver tomorrow morning before dawn?"

"Prove it," Howard challenged, then saw the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. "You can't because none of whatever he told you is true." Barely holding the fury in check, he drew himself up to his full height again and stared icily down his nose at her.

"It's my word against yours, Stacia," he bit the words off. "Now you ..." he swept the Henneseys and Stacia's husband, Jarrod with barely concealed contempt, "...all of you get out of my house." He paused then said, "Anyone of you sets foot on my property again and I'll kill you." He ignored the gasps from the doorway, and sent a defiant glare at Jarrod McCutcheon.

But Howard and the others went rigid with shock when a young familiar male voice...from the direction of the bed...said, "But there is proof."

------------

While Howard and Stacia clashed, exposing a lot of things that had started tumbling pieces of this leap into place in his mind, Al had begun to pace back and forth beside the bed, keeping a vigilant eye on Sam's still unmoving body.

"How much longer?" he said aloud agitatedly more than once. Howard issuing his threat to Stacia and the others doubled his worry. When the handlink chirped from inside his pocket, Al pulled it out and punched in a response code. Gooshie's babbling that the odds of Sam's possible death by Howard's hand had jumped to seventy percent decided the Observer's next move.

Going to the bed, he leaned over so his face was above Sam's face and said sharply, "Things are getting outta hand here, Philip. You better do something and quick."

The intense exchange kept the others from seeing the young man on the bed twitch slightly, a slight frown furrowing his brow before he opened his eyes and looked up at the Observer.

"Philip?" Al said uncertainly.

"Yes, Al," Philip said so softly Al had to lean closer to hear. "It's me." He also saw the question in the dark eyes watching him. "Sam is safe," he assured him.

That's all Al needed to hear, and he heaved a deep sigh of relief. "Best thing I've heard in this room in several hours," he said. But some of his relief was curtailed when Howard issued his threat. He looked back down at Philip. "I think it's time for you to put in an appearance."

He watched the others shocked reactions when Philip's quietly strong voice said, "But there is proof," and watched a young man they'd thought was drugged sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed.

------------

Howard was having trouble getting his breath as he turned toward the bed. The sight of Perry sitting calmly on the side of the bed, his eyes clear and obviously not in pain, sent shock waves through his body. Just looking into his son's face, he knew that it wasn't Aaron. But it also wasn't Perry.

"Who...who are you?" he asked, stumbling over the words. "You...you should be knocked out. I used over half the bottle..."

"Half of what?" Stacia asked.

"My name is Philip," the male personality said as he stood up and moved to stand near Howard and Stacia. A glance at Stacia told him she was thoroughly confused. He turned to her and said, "I am one of several alternate personalities who have...been with Perry since he was a little boy." He glanced back at Howard. "And what he's referring to are knockout drops." He nodded when Stacia gasped. "Fortunately, I found them this afternoon before he got home and replaced them with water."

"Why does my son need alternate personalities?" was the first question to cross Stacia's lips as she looked up at her son, confusion on her face. He'd been twelve years old and several inches shorter the last time she'd seen him. He was almost a man now.

Al had to admire the aplomb with which Perry's mother received the next bit of information when Philip, though quiet spoken, answered bluntly. "To help him preserve his sanity and, more recently, to protect his life from his father."

Philip turned a piercing, unwavering gaze on Howard. "On numerous occasions he's beaten Perry into unconsciousness," he said in an unhurried tone that carried a conviction that wouldn't be denied.

"He's insane," Howard shouted, stepping between Philip and Stacia. "Can't you see it?"

"What is it I should be seeing?" Stacia said, fighting to keep calm when her every instinct was telling her to let her anger loose.

"That Perry's inherited my family's tendency to insanity," Howard said, talking as fast as he could, trying not to babble. "He needs to be in Colver where they can take care of him."

"And that's why you beat him senseless?" Stacia stormed.

He saw that the situation was getting away from him, but still Howard fought. His next words snatched everything irrevocably away from him.

"It's the only way to get the gypsy outta him," he shouted at her as he grabbed her by the shoulders. "It started when he turned fifteen..."

"Perry experienced his first kiss that evening," Philip explained softly to Stacia. His eyes went to Margie, standing in the doorway, a look of absolute confusion on her face. Philip smiled at her. "Margie was the girl he kissed that night."

"God only knows what he woulda done if I hadn't dragged him away from her that night," Howard ranted as he lost touch with reality. And as the pressures of his own fears, suspicions, and jealousies, which he'd punished his son for finally broke free, all the defiance and resistance seemed to leave his body. He would have fallen if Jarrod and Margie's father hadn't darted forward to catch him.

"Where's his room?" Jarrod asked.

"The next door on the left," Philip told him.

Jarrod nodded. He glanced at his wife. "I'll call the police and his doctor," he said. His eyes flicked to Philip and back. "Will you be okay?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. She watched as they walked Howard out of the room, then turned back to Philip.

Her mind was in a whirl at the complex and disturbing information erupting all around her. Still she kept her wits about her. Reaching out, she hesitated only a fraction of a second before putting a hand on Philip's arm. "You said there was proof of...what happened to...my son?" Without hesitation she followed his gaze when he looked again to the doorway.

"Yes, ma'am, there is," Margie said, her voice calm and steady as she went to Perry's mother and placed a slim, much handled brown diary tied with a shoelace in her hands. "Perry," she darted an uncertain glance at Philip, "told me yesterday about calling you," she said, looking into Stacia's eyes. "He gave it to me for safekeeping. He said that when you got here to be sure and give it to you. So you would know the truth."

"What is it?" Stacia asked, turning the book over and over, but not untying the shoelace.

"It's a diary that I and "Evalynn", another of Perry's personalities have been keeping for a number of years," Philip told her.

Stacia hugged Margie warmly. "Thank you for being his friend Margie," she whispered against the girl's ear.

--------------

This roller coaster ride was nearly over, and Al was glad to see it come to an end. But something was still missing. Sam. Catching Philip's eye, he motioned for him to come closer. It was Philip who spoke first.

"Thanks, Al," he said, smiling Sam's smile at the hologram.

"For what?"

"For trusting me." The smile widened as he said, "Sam's right. No man could ask for a more loyal and caring friend."

"I can say the same about you," Al admitted. "Thanks for being a safe harbor for Sam in the midst of a damned ugly storm."

Philip smiled again, then glanced at Stacia and Margie, then back to Al. "I think it's time Sam came out so he can finish this leap."

Sam's hazel eyes twinkled as Philip dropped a wink at Al's surprised expression.

"Sam and I talked while we waited. Who knows?" he looked deep into Al's dark eyes. "Maybe some of what we talked about will one day help him return home."

Al's next words were the closest thing to a verbalized prayer to fall from his lips in decades. "From your lips to God's ears," he said fervently.

"Goodbye, Al," Philip said.

"Goodbye, Philip." Al barely got the words out before Sam's eyes closed for a moment, his body swayed a bit, then regained its balance. This time when Sam Beckett's eyes opened, it was Sam Beckett who looked at the Observer and smiled.

"Hi, Al," he said softly.

"Welcome back, Sam," Al said, his voice a trifle husky. "We missed you."

"We?" Sam asked, dropping his voice to a whisper.

"Yeah. Me, Gooshie, Verbena, the ego-in-a-can..."

Sam stifled a chuckle at the last part as he asked, "So, what happens to Perry?"

Never had Al smacked the colorful handlink with more pleasure than he did now as he recited the new history.

"Well, considering that in 1964 nineteen wasn't legal adult age, Stacia goes to court and gets permanent custody of Perry until he turns twenty-one. It's also gonna take several years of intense therapy for all of Perry's personalities to reunite."

"All...of them?" Sam asked, cocking an eyebrow at the Observer.

"Yes, all of them," Al said. "Aaron's bullheaded about it, but eventually he comes around."

"What happens to Howard?" Sam asked. "Is he okay now?" The look on Al's face told him not to hope.

"Howard's committed permanently to Colver by the end of next week," Al said somberly, continuing to read the information Ziggy was feeding through the handlink. Al met his friend's eyes. "He's only there for a couple of years." He answered the question before Sam could voice it. "He dies in his sleep of a massive stroke on September 18, 1966."

Al wasn't about to let the harsher details of the new history to cast a pall on the moment. Punching in another code he said brightly, "Oh, you're gonna love this. According to Ziggy, Perry's now a middle-aged physics professor at a small state college in Washington state."

"Did he ever marry?"

"Yep," Al said, retrieving that information.

Sam turned his head and saw Margie watching him, and smiled. He understood her hesitancy when he held his hand out to her. "It's me, Margie," he assured her. Sam gently clasped her fingers when she took his hand, and drew her close. "Do she and Perry have any children?"

Al smiled as he watched Margie walk unhesitatingly into Sam's arms and hug him tightly. When Sam looked over her shoulder at him, he said, "Two boys. Philip John...and Samuel Albert."

But even with all things being as they should, Sam didn't feel a leap coming on. He quirked an eyebrow at the Observer.

Quickly Al punched the buttons on the handlink. "Oh, Ziggy says that it's a ninety percent probability that once you propose to Margie, you'll leap."

Never had Sam felt more at ease in proposing marriage than he did as he took Margie's hand and led her a few steps away from the group by the door.

Taking her hands in his, Sam looked into her eyes and said in a soft, clear voice without any hesitation, "I love you, Margie. I have since I first saw you." He saw the color come up in her cheeks but her eyes never left his. "I know it'll be a while before it happens, but..." Sam paused just long enough to get down on one knee, her hands in his and said, "Margie Hennessey, will you be my wife?"

"Yes," was Margie's quick, quiet but very firm answer. Then, her eyes shining with happiness, she leaned down for a quick kiss.

"This will make an interesting story to tell our children," she giggled giddily. "How you proposed to me in your bedroom wearing just your pajama pants."

Still on one knee, Sam laughed with her. As he pulled her close for another hug, he felt the familiar tugging tingle deep inside. "Be happy," he whispered, looking up at her as the tugging within became stronger.

He barely had time to hear her whisper, "I know we will," before he leaped.


	27. Chapter 27

The Face In The Mirror 

**By C. Eleiece Krawiec**

Epilogue 

When he finally walked out of the Imaging Chamber after Sam leaped, Al marched quietly through the control room, past Verbena and Gushie and the other personnel, heading for the Waiting Room.

In the doorway of the wide, quiet room he paused, staring at the bed in the center of the room. After a moment he crossed to it. Verbena entered a few minutes later and found him standing at the foot of the bed, staring at it.

"How was Perry just before he went back?" Al asked quietly.

"We talked the whole time you were in the Imaging Chamber with Sam," she said.

"What was his attitude?" Al persisted.

"He knew...more or less...what would be waiting for him when he returned home." Verbena said. Putting a hand on Al's arm closest to her, she waited for him to look at her. "He's really much stronger than you might think, Al. He'll be fine."

Being alone in the Waiting Room with Verbena, Al felt enough privacy was theirs for him to let a bit of his own feelings out.

"It was too close, Bena," he said, not even aware of the tremor of emotion in his voice. "It was too damned close. We could have lost him."

"That's a possibility with every leap," the psychiatrist reminded him gently.

"No," Al shook his head. "This would've been different. His mind, everything thing that makes Sam who he is, would have been lost forever. His body being used by someone else's personality. He might have been killed by Perry's father," he said with a frightened passion that rarely surfaced in the presence of other people. "Sam...his body...could have spent the rest of his life locked up and forgotten in a mental institution."

Verbena put a hand on his shoulder and waited for him to be still and meet her eyes. "It could have happened that way...but it didn't."

She let him think about that for a moment then said, gently, "Don't stay in here too long. You look like you need about a week in the sack ...alone." She smiled and winked at him, then left. He heard the door open then close with a soft whooshing sound. Still his eyes never left the temporarily unoccupied bed.

"Wherever you are, wherever you're sent, I'll be there, Sam," Al said over the empty bed. "Only God will ever stop me from being there when you need me. And whatever it takes, however long it takes, I'll get you home."

Feeling a tear slip down his cheek, Al hastily wiped it away and headed for the door. When the door opened, he paused and looked back.

"Maybe He'll even let me be here when you finally come home," he whispered into the stillness of the large quiet room, then stepped through the door and headed for his quarters.

Once more the solitary bed in the large quiet white room waited.

The End.


End file.
